


Fen'Halani

by Fen_Halani



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Culture, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Elvhen, Elvhen Language, Elvhen Pantheon, Elvhenan, F/M, Fade Demons, Fade Dreams, Fade Spirits, Jaws of Hakkon, Mage Rebellion, Mage Rights, Multi, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Shapeshifting, Spoilers, Thedas, Trespasser - Freeform, Wolves, decent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 53
Words: 183,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Halani/pseuds/Fen_Halani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenria Halani (Lani) Lavellan has led a trying and interesting life so far but things took a dramatic turn to the left after Keeper Deshanna sends the Clan Lavellan First to spy on Divine Justina's Conclave. A simple recon mission turns into a battle for all of Thedas with the Dalish woman at its center. With the help of her companions and advisers she seeks to put the world right. </p><p>However, Lavellan, like everyone, has secrets. Touched by a rare and ancient mage, she can take the form of a wolf. Not a true shifter as the mythic Morrigan, she can only take the one form but she can do so with absolute control. A hidden skill that has both helped and condemned her. How long can she keep her past hidden? What happens if she fails? And who is this mysterious and handsome elven man? When her walls come down, she might find she is not so alone as she thought... or perhaps even more so.</p><p>*Spoilers! Lots and lots of spoilers! So if you haven't played the game yet... you've been warned.</p><p>*Characters and event heavily inspired by DA:I. All DA characters are the property of Bioware and EA. Dialogue from game and game events heavily used and also belong to Bioware.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solas meets the woman who will become so important to the world... and to him.

The bald elf was tall for one of his kind and board, which made him roughly average height and build for a human man. Cassandra, the Right Hand of the now slain Divine, eyed him suspiciously as he approach the prone form on the ground. He was an apostate and one who claimed to study the Fade, as such she did not fully trust him. Still this ‘Solas’ had come to them openly, laying down his staff and approaching open-armed. He had given no threat and had instead offered his knowledge and his aid to them willingly. 

“Well?” Cassandra prompted impatiently. 

“She is alive but barely,” he said. “Whatever this mark it is, it is spreading. It is likely to kill her.” His brow furrowed as he studied the unconscious elven woman’s glowing forearm. The green magic’s light pulsed and twisted. Meeting the eyes of the Seeker, he said, “I will see what can be done to slow its progress, but I can make no guarantees. Still I will try.” A single huff of air escaped through Cassandra’s nose in acknowledgement. 

“See that you do,” she replied firmly, hazel eyes narrowing as her gaze fell on the prisoner. “I have questions for her to answer.” 

With that, the Right Hand of the Divine turned on her heel and stalked from the cell, closing the door behind her and instructing the guards to aid Solas in any way he may need. With in reason, of course. 

Once she was gone, Solas was able to give his complete attention to their captive. He took a moment to study her as she lay sleeping. She was dalish. That much was clear by the sweeping dusky green tattoos, vallaslin, of Mythal’s branches that marred her cheeks, brow, and chin. He was fairly certain those were not the only place they could be found and the thought disgusted him. Even if Mythal had been one of his oldest friends, he still found the brands repugnant and the dalish misinterpretation of them did nothing to help. Solas wondered, for what would not be the last time, what this elf might look like without them. 

She appeared to be in her late third or early four decade, a woman in full though her features still carried some youth. She had pale but sun tanned skin, high broad cheekbones and large eyes. Her ears were long and elegantly tipped, shining with several piercings. Seven as far as Solas could see. Three small stones gleamed in a line along her lower ears while a single silver hoop looped through the cartilage high on her right ear. Dirty hair the color of bronze was still mostly tucked in the elaborate hunting braid she wore, though a few strands hung loose around her face. The lengths seemed to darken to near black at the tips. A faded scar ran over right side of her face, starting just above her eyebrow and ending low on her cheek. It was clearly an old wound for her tattoos went over it as opposed to having been torn by it. As modern elves went she was lovely. A fact not lost on Solas though he took like interest in her save for the flickering green mark of _his_ power burrowed into her left hand. 

He had made a mistake in his haste and now all his plans were in jeopardy, not to mention all of Thedas. He bore little love for this broken world he had played a part in creating but he did not relish the thought of the lives lost to his folly, even if those lives were mere shadows of what they should have been. 

Solas reached out to the mark with his will. It flashed in recognition of him but remain firmly rooted in the woman flesh. He tugged at it lightly, encouraging it to release. In response, the magic twined itself more firmly into its host, eliciting a pained moan from the woman.

The elvhen man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. Of course, it wouldn’t release. It had never been intended as something one could pick up and set down. It was permanent, at least until its purpose was for-filled- something this _elf_ would never be capable of even if she had the inclination. Still she may prove useful. The Breach would destroy this world and everyone in it if left unchecked. The mark and its barer could at least help with that.

Now the problem was to stop it from consuming her while they still needed her aid. Slowly, gently, Solas fed magically energy into the woman. His power singing to its separated cousin, herding it back onto itself until it resided completely in the woman’s palm. He worked a subtle barrier around the mark, willing it in place. Enriching the barrier that the mark might feed on it rather than her. It would not hold long, though he could not give an exact estimate. A few days at most. 

As the Breach grew so would the mark. Its power increasing, becoming hungrier. It was never meant for a mortal. Never meant for any but himself. And in truth, Solas was only one who could have born its power and lived. For now at least, that path was closed to him. The barrier would have to hold. It was all he could do for the elven woman. The rest was in her hands.


	2. Confused And Accussed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one very confused elf awakens in a world forever changed and finds herself blamed for its misfortune.

Fenria Halani Lavellan- simply Lani or Lavellan to most outsiders- remembered standing in a strange green hazy world, unsure of where she was. She remembered seeing the woman clothed in light so bright it was blinding to look at. She remembered climbing toward her up a steep cliff -or was it a stairway? She remember the gigantic hideous spiders that chased her and the awful clicking and chittering they made as they nipped at her heels. She remembered the woman reaching out to her. She remembered reaching back. A brilliant flash. Pain. Then darkness…

 

The stones were cold and sharp beneath the elven woman’s legs as she became aware of her surroundings once more. The muscles of Lavellan’s shoulders were tight and sore from being hunched over so long in a kneeling position. Her knees ached and the manacles cut into her wrist. She was unsure just how long she had been here, where ever ‘here’ was. If the numbness in her feet were any indication it had been quite a while. Her left hand felt as though it was on fire. Glancing at it, she saw it sparking and hissing with strange green power. She gasped in surprise and pain as it flared before her eyes. 

The heavy grogginess she felt was slowly abating. A look around revealed she was kneeling in the middle of four armed men, each with a sword trained on her, in the middle of what appeared to be a holding cell. She let out a string of surprised curses and almost toppled over. Fantastic, Lani thought dryly as she regained her balance. _Just what this day needs._ The elf was beginning to wish Keeper Deshanna had sent someone else to spy on the conclave but all the wishing in the world couldn’t help her now.

The several doors opened and shut, the sounds growing closer. Two women entered the room, the men lowering their swords. They circled the elven mage, a move they knew would put her on edge. 

One was roughly the same height as Lani though she was heavily armed and armored with the distinct stance of a well skilled warrior. She’s circled the mage like a predator waiting for the call to attack. Short black bangs hung over her brow and a braid encircled her head. Her dark armor emblazoned with a stark white symbol. _Something Chantry related maybe?_ Furious amber eyes bore into Lani and she did her best not to flinch at their heat. 

The other was taller, shrouded in thick flexible chainmail, hood pulled high over her ginger hair. The look of a rogue about her. A chantry styled clasp over one collar bone. _Joy oh joy they’re are Chantry then,_ Lani thought darkly. Of all people to be in imprisoned by, the Chantry was not high on Lani’s list. Not only because she had been spying on their gathering but also because she was dalish and a mage. It’s not as though the Chantry had a particularly good history with either of those groups.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” The warrior demanded, her rage palpable as it flowed from her. Her accent thick. Nevarran? “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” Lani merely stared at her, brows lowering in a scowl, heat creeping into her own gaze. She had nothing to say and even if she did, she doubted she would be believed. This woman was clearly looking for a neck to fit a noose and, so help her, Lavellan wasn’t going to go for the bait. “Explain this,” the warrior spat, rage fueled by Lani’s lack of response as she roughly grabbing the elf’s arm and raising the marked hand to eye level. 

“I can’t.” Lani hissed through gritted teeth. Choking slightly on the pain that shot through her stiff muscles at the sudden movement after being still for so long.

“What do you mean you can’t?” The warrior said releasing her grip, a disgusted sneer parting her lips. 

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there.” It was the truth. Simple and wholly unsatisfying truth.

“You’re lying!” The dark haired woman shouted making to strike. Lani noticed for the first time the pain behind the warrior’s words. The sorrow of loss clear behind the fury as her voice cracked. Her hand stayed by the other woman. 

“We need her, Cassandra.” Amber eyes flashed but she subsided stepping aside to allow her companion to move closer to the elf on the floor. 

“So what happens now?” Lani asked the second woman. If she was to be executed she’d rather get it over with, all things considered.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The ginger woman asked, though really it seemed more a statement than a question. She was standing dead in front of Lani, warrior at her side, staring her down.

"I remember running. _Things_ were chasing me, and then… a woman?”

“A woman?” the rogue asked, but whether in surprise or clarification, Lani wasn’t sure. 

“She reached out to me, but then..” The elf shook her head unable to remember anything more.

They listened and though they did not seem entirely convinced their expressions softened somewhat. They shared a look before Cassandra said, “go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” The ginger rogue, Leliana apparently, nodded once and left. Cassandra approached the kneeling elf.

“What _did_ happen?” asked Lani as the manacles were removed, replaced with a simple rope binding. 

“It… will be easier to show you.” 

Lani followed the warrior out of the dungeons and outside, where she had to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight. As she eyes adjusted her mouth fell open in shock and fear. There, in the sky above the mountains, was a giant swirling green tear as if the heavens themselves had been torn wide open. Rocks the sizes of castles rose from the ground drifting upward lazily, spinning as they went. Cassandra saw the elf staring and turned to do the same, mouth set in a grim line. 

“We call it the Breach,” she said. “It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” Cassandra’s voice was distant, edged in awe and worry. She turned to Lavellan saying, “it is not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“An explosion can do _that_ ?” asked Lani, disbelieving. In all of her life she had never heard of such a thing. The prospect was… terrifying. 

“This one did,” Cassandra confirmed. “Unless we act the breach may grow until it swallows the world.” The Breach groaned and grew even as the women watched. Lani let out a cry of pain as it did so, falling to the ground. The mark flared madly as if her raw nerves had been held to hot coals. She gripped her wrist desperately, trying to will the agony way. It did nothing. “Each time the Breach expands your mark spreads… and it is killing you,” Cassandra said kneeling to look in the elf’s eyes. “It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.”

“You say it may be the key. To doing what?” Lani asked skeptically, chest still heaving as her breath was slow to return to normal. Pain still hissed up and down her arm. 

“Closing the Breach,” the warrior said simply. “Whether that is even possible is something we shall discover shortly. It is our only chance however. And your’s,” she added pointedly.

“You still think I did this?” the bound elf demanded. “To myself?” _Really, how inept does this woman think I am? I barely survived. Why would I do something like this to myself?_

“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.” Well no shit, thought Lani, eyes narrowing as she fought to keep the snarky comment to herself.

“And if I’m not responsible?” She growled.

“Someone is,” the warrior snarled at her, lips peeling back. “And you are our only suspect.” Her tone softened slightly as she continued, “If you wish to prove your innocence, this is the only way.” Lani sighed. This fighting would get them no where. She didn’t truly believe she could close the Breach, but she was more than willing to try. Besides, it didn’t seem as though she had much choice. _What’s the worst that can happen? I die?_ She thought darkly. _I’d rather die on a mountain trying to stop that thing than with a noose around my neck for a crime I’m fairly sure I had no part in._

“I understand,” she said at last, bowing her head in submission and understanding.

“Then…?”

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” Cassandra nodded and helped Lani roughly to her feet, hand on her back as she propelled her forward through the crowded village. 

Soldiers and villagers alike pointed at the bound elf, shouting cruel curses and oaths. Spitting on the ground as she passed. Lani flinched but held her head high, eyes darting around waiting for an attack. “They have decided your guilt. They need it,” said the dark hair woman as if reading her charge’s thoughts. _As have you,_ Lani thought. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry.” Her voice was quiet, for Lani’s ears only, as the pair moved out of the village, the calls and jeers growing distant behind them as they walked the path toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

“The conclave was her’s. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead.” The warrior’s voice was heavy with lost hope. Lani closed her eyes letting the woman’s words wash over her. The war between templars and mages had sent ripples across all of Thedas. It is why Lani had come to spy on the conclave in the first place. Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel, Lani’s Keeper, said the decisions reached there would affect everyone, even the roving dalish clans. If what the woman was saying was true the fighting would only get infinitely worse. That could spell awful things for those caught in the middle. “We lash out like the sky but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the Breach is sealed.” They passed through the Pilgrims gate, the guards murmuring greetings to Cassandra as they passed, though their scowlling eyes never left Lavellan. Once on the other side, with the gate closed behind them, Cassandra stopped Lani, facing her. Knife in hand she deftly cut the binding around the elven woman’s wrists. “There will be a trial,” she said, tone grim. “I can promise no more.” She turned away. “Come. It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?” Lani asked hurrying to keep up on the snow slicked stones. Her muscles were still stiff but the movement helped. 

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.” Cassandra said by way of answer. It wasn’t what Lani had meant and she was fairly certain the human woman knew it. Still the elf did not press further. It was likely she would get no better answer. 

Men ran past as they began up the mountainside path. Fleeing some unseen foe. One cried out, “Maker, it’s the end of the world!” Lavellan watched them as they passed, the anxious tension in her chest growing. 

A blast of sound cut through the crisp air. Once more the Breach expanded and once more Lani fell to the ground in agony, forearm alight with the strange power. She gritted her teeth against the pain, focusing on the cold snow below her as a distraction.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra said helping Lani to her feet and steadying her. “The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, the more demons we face.” 

The elven woman’s heart sank. She was not a fan of demons in the best of times, even less so now. She became consciously aware of her lack of even the most basic weapon. She could free cast spells well enough without a staff, leaving her more protected than the average sitting nug, however, the situation was not remotely close to ideal. And her greatest assent was lost to her in present company. She did not like to think how this woman would react to that particular trick. 

All along the trail were shattered barrels and over turned carts. Here and there rocks that looked to be recent additions to the landscape and pieces that seem to have come for structures though none that matched were in evidence nearby. It was those pieces that frightened Lavellan most. How far had these chunks of stone been thrown exactly? There were bodies too. More than she could count. Some fresh. Some mostly buried in snow. Wounds too horrific to imagine. 

“How did I survive the blast?” Lani asked awed by the devastation she saw around them as they climbed.

“They say you…stepped out of a rift, -then fell unconscious,” her companion answered as they walked. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” The elf nodded. At least her story had aligned with what others saw. That might help her case. “Everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes…” Whatever Cassandra meant to say next was lost as the bridge they had begun to cross was struck by a bolt of green light and gave out beneath them, sending Lani and Cassandra tumbling onto the frozen river below. Heavy stones falling around them. Another great bolt of green light fell from the Breach, ricocheting off a nearby ledge and slamming into the ground not far away. The ground erupting where it hit. The earth roiled like boiling water. From it rose a demon. 

“Stay behind me,” Cassandra yelled with a gestured before charging the beast with a cry of “Maker take you!” Lani lay sprawled on the ground casting around for any means of defense. To her luck, a staff lay no more than a few meters away. It was nothing special but it would suffice. That assumed she could get to it before the second demon that had risen got to her. 

She lunged to the slide, throwing her body into a roll, fingers slipping around the smooth wood as she did so. Mana already surging as she rose and began to cast. The staff twirled between her hands before slamming down. A bolt of fire cut through the wraith quickly closing on her, sending it to the ground with a sickening wail. Cassandra making quick work of her own foe.

“It’s over,” Lavellan said relieved and panting as she strode over to the warrior. Cassandra wheeled on her, sword still in hand pointed at her heart.

“Drop your weapon. _Now!_ ” Her roared. The mage’s own rage began to rise but she bit it back.

“Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous,” she hissed through clenched teeth, golden flecked emerald eyes flashing dangerously in challenge.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Cassandra shot back.

“It should,” Lani barked. “I haven’t used my magic on you yet, have I?” Words clipped. She began to pull power to herself just in case the woman made to attack. She might loose but she wouldn’t go down easily. To the elven apostates surprise, Cassandra sighed. Nodding she lowered her weapon, sheathing it. 

“You are right,” she said, voice softening substantially in capitulation. “You do not need a staff but you should have one. I can not protect you.” Shaking her head the human turned her back to Lavellan, making for the path ahead. She looked back adding, “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” Lani pursed her lips but swallow her retort excepting the olive branch as it was. 

Cassandra handed her a few bottles as they began up the path side by side. “Take these potions. Maker know what we will face.”

“Where are your men?” The elf asked, tucking the offered health potions into pouch on her belt.

“At the forward camp. Or fighting,” Cassandra said. “We are on our own for now.” 

“Oh this’ll be fun,” Lani said dryly. “What could _possibly go wrong_?” The warrior made a small disgusted sound but her eyebrows seemed to twitch in agreement. 

 

The trail was littered with debris. More barrels and over turned carts. Fallen men and burning supplies. It made Lani nauseous knowing it would get worse the closer they got to ground zero. 

“We’re getting close to the rift,” Cassandra called from behind her as the women raced up the icy stairs carved into the mountainside. “You can hear the fighting.”

“Whose’s fighting?” Lani called over her shoulder to the warrior.

“You’ll see soon. We must help them.” 

Lani drew on her mana before she could even see the battle. Unleashing a chain reaction of lighting as soon as she was in range. She slid into the battle effortlessly, stepping up beside another mage as he cast, syncing her movements to his. It reminded her of being back with her clan fighting off bandits and wolves, side-by-side with her clansmen. 

In moments, the demons were gone, dying bodies seeming pulled back into the rift as they dissolved. Lani stared at the rift awestruck. It was exactly like a smaller version of the Breach. A shining tear in the fabric of the Veil that shifted and pulsed with emerald light around a central almost crystalline form. It hissed ominously. 

“Quickly! Before more come through!” The mage beside her shouted grabbing her wrist and thrusting it toward the rift. The mark flared, sending a jet of whirling light into the tear causing it to hum and crackle. With a final burst of energy the rift exploded, dissipating into thin air. 

“What did you do?” Lani asked awed, rubbing her wrist as she turned to the man beside her. Looking at him fully for the first time, she was somewhat surprised to find a tall bald elven man not much older than herself staring politely at her. He bore no vallaslin and thus was unlikely dalish though he did not carry himself like any city elf she had ever met. 

“ _I_ did nothing,” he said, a light hum to his words. “The credit is yours.” His voice was deep and rich. Bright and breathy from their recent fight and victory.

“You mean this,” she said clenching and unclenching her marked fist.

“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” he said nodding to her. “I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that opened in the Breach’s wake.” Bright blue eyes flashed, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. “And it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the breach itself,” said Cassandra from behind them. 

“Possibly,” he said to her before once more turning to Lavellan. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” She dipped her head to him, aware even as she did so of how her lips pulled at the corners and her cheeks flushed. 

“Good to know,” cut in a new voice. Lavellan turned to find herself facing a squat dwarven man with blondish red hair and almost as may piercings as her. “Here I thought we’d be ass deep in demons forever,” he said striding down from the pile of ruble he had been perched upon during the battle, adjusting a glove as he did so. “Varric Tethras,” he said offering Lani a hand. “Rogue, storyteller, occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He winked at Cassandra, who sneered. 

“Are you with the Chantry,” Lani asked tentatively shaking his hand, “or…?”

Solas scoffed. Head rolling back as he laughed, “was that a serious question?” 

“Yes. Though apparently a dumb one,” Lavellan said darkly. Solas still smirked but gave her a polite apologetic nod. 

“Technically,” Varric said shrugging, “I’m a prisoner just like you.” 

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine,” Cassandra said hastily her voice edged in distaste. “Clearly that is no longer necessary.” 

“Yet here I am. Lucky for you,” Varric retorted before grumbling, “…considering current events.” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“That’s ah… a nice crossbow you have there,” said Lani hesitantly, trying to change what was apparent a sore topic.

“Ahh Isn’t she?” The dwarf sighed with affection, glancing over his shoulder at the aforementioned bow. “Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“You named your cross bow Bianca?” Lani’s eyebrows rose. 

“Of course,” he said smiling. “And she’ll be great company in the valley.” The elven woman made to reply but was cut off by Cassandra.

“Absolutely not!” The warrior declared taking a step forward. She took a deep breath and sighed, “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but..”

“Have you been in the valley lately Seeker?” Varric asked gesturing to the road ahead of them. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.” Cassandra let out a disgusted noise but made not further comment. Apparently, that had been enough to settle the matter. That the valley was bad enough for Cassandra to submit to allowing someone she clearly disliked join them, was not a comforting thought to Lavellan.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” said the tall elf, drawing her attention. “I am pleased to see you still live.” 

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” said Varric dryly.

“Ah. I see. Then I owe you my thanks. For helping me not die,” Lani said bowing to him a smile on her lips. “All things considered, not dying has been the highlight of my week. Lani Lavellan,” she said offering him a hand. The fact that it was a handsome elven mage that had facilitated her survival… well that was just icing on the cake as far as she was concerned. Solas dipped his head to her, an approving smile pulling at his lips. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she said impressed, glancing down at her marked hand.

“Like you, Solas is an apostate.” 

“Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra,” he said, one eyebrow arching at her, in slight chastisement. To Lani he continued, “my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any circle mage.” She noticed the edge of distaste on the final two words but made no comment. “I came to offer whatever help I could give with the Breach. If it is not closed we are all doomed regardless of origin.” Lani nodded. It was as good a reason as any and better than a few to willing go marching up a mountain to a gapping glowing hole in the sky. 

“And what will you do once this is over?” she asked him lightly. His approving smile grew. 

“One hopes those in power will remember who helped,” he said with a dip of his head. “And who did not.” He looked over to the human woman. “Cassandra, you should know the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.” 

“Understood,” Cassandra said, voice grim and somewhat disapproving as she glanced at the elf from Clan Lavellan before looking away. The elven woman got the distinct impression Cassandra was disappointed, if not actively angered, that Lavellan may not be the culprit she searched for. Lovely, thought the dalish woman. “We must get to the forward camp quickly,” Cassandra said. With that she and Solas moved off down the road.

“Well,” sighed Varric with a half hearted shrug, “Bianca’s excited.” Then he too turned and followed the others leaving Lani alone to stare after them. 

_What have I gotten myself into now?_ she sighed shaking her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. She made to wrap the long fingers of her other hand around the pendants that normal lay against her chest- a source of comfort for her, comfort she desperately needed at the moment- but her fingers closed over empty air. The necklace was gone. Her hand dropped to her side, fingers clenching. _I shouldn’t be surprised,_ she thought bitterly. If the blast did not destroy them, it was likely the Chantry had taken them, believing them to be magical and dangerous. They were wrong, at least on the dangerous part, thought they would never believe her. 

“This way,” Cassandra called back impatiently. “Down the bank. The road ahead is blocked.” _There is no hope for it now,_ Lani thought. _I’ll just have to see this through to the end, whatever ‘the end’ might mean._

“We must move quickly,” Solas encouraged, motioning her to follow. She pursed her lips. Alright already, she thought, willing herself forward towards the others. 

“Hold your hallas,” Lani called grumpily making her way toward them, “I’m coming.” Varric snorted. Solas eyebrows rose. She hopping over the low barricade. “Can’t a woman catch her breath, for Creators’ sake,” she muttered to herself as she passed the stunned others, taking the lead down the steep slope. She could still hear Varric chuckling behind her and all but feel Cassandra’s disproving glare. _Apparently not._

“Demons ahead!” Solas shouted in warning, though Lani had already spotted the danger. He brought his staff up to the ready, casting before the words had cleared his lips. Cassandra flew past them into the fray. The woman was even more frightening in battle. 

“Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric called after her. Lani raced to a ledge nearby to get a higher vantage point, bringing her power to bare as she did so. _No rest for the wicked. At least, not today._

“You are Dalish,” remarked Solas studying her vallaslin with narrowed eyes as Lani took a swig from one of the health potions Cassandra had given her. A wraith had managed to get a good swipe in and the armor she had been given wasn’t the most protective thing ever invented. She desperately hoped her gear would be returned to her if she managed to jump through all the right hoops and not die. But more than armor, missed her staff. The one she had salvage was a poor substitute. “But clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?” Lani nodded, swallowing. 

“What do you know of the Dalish?” she asked warily. She expected some curiosity, after all she was was rather hard to miss in a crowd, but something in his tone sent up warning flags. 

“I have wandered many roads in my time,” he said, voice guarded. “I’ve crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.” _My people? Odd choice of wording,_ she thought.

“What do you mean by crossed paths?” She asked head tilting in curiosity even as her own eyes narrowed.

“I mean that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstitions.” She made to respond but Varric cut her off.

“Can’t you elves just play nice for once?” the dwarf grumbled. Lavellan dropped it but she could not help the small bubble of bitter rage from forming in her chest. The elf seemed nice enough but he had made many assumptions about her, her people, and her views. It’s not as though she shared the views and superstitions of all the dalish nor that all clans were same. This, however, was not the time for that particular talk. They had rather more important things to attend to. 

Lavellan busied herself digging through the ruins of a few cabins for anything that might help. Better armor. A better staff. Maybe some extra health potions. She had found some coins and a few materials she stored in a pocket for later use but nothing much of value. As she crossed the frozen river to reclaim her fallen staff, the mark cracked sharply making her gasp. 

Solas came to her side, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder, as he studied the flicking mark. 

“My magic can not stop the mark from growing any further,” he said quietly but sternly. “For your sake, I suggest we hurry.” Lani nodded, gritting her teeth against the discomfort. She gripped her staff hard, leaning into as she trudged up the far bank toward the forward camp. 

Solas had probed her in the hopes of getting some sort of reaction from her. Some read. He had anticipated her to challenge him and she had. _Just another dalish savage then,_ he had thought bitterly. But her challenge had not been as harsh as he had anticipated and she let the matter drop easier than he had expected. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking but something about her seemed…different from other elves he had met in this world. At least, other Dalish elves.

“So are you innocent?” ask Varric as they climbed the slope behind Lani, adjusting the crossbow slung over his back.

“I don’t remember,” the dalish elf replied unable to fully conceal her annoyance at the question or her lack of good answer. 

“That’ll get you every time,” he said tsking. “Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what _you_ would have done,” Cassandra spat.

“It’s more believable and less prone to result in premature execution.” It was a fair point, however weaving a lie would have meant needing to maintain it. Something Lani did not have the interest or energy for doing, especially when no one would believe her anyway. Besides at least what little story she had matched what more trusted witnesses had seen.

“Better to stick to the truth than make a lie I could be caught and killed in,” she shrugged. “At least if I am hung while telling the truth I’ll die with a clear conscience.”

“Whatever you say, Vixen.” Lani cocked her head, turning to look back at him, confusion creasing her forehead even as a smirk pulled at one corner of her mouth.

“Vixen?” she asked, brows raising. The dwarf shrugged.

“I give people nicknames. It’s kind of my thing.” 

“Indeed it is,” said Solas giving the dwarf a side long glance. “Though where you came up if ‘Chuckles’ is something of a mystery to me.” Varric laughed. 

“Your bright and jovial disposition of course.” Solas rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Why Vixen?” Lani asked genuinely curious. 

“You strike me as a woman with secrets. One who knows the full extent of her power and how best to apply it,” the dwarf said pensively. “Stubborn. Foxy and sly, but with heart and integrity. And no small measure of sass if that halla comment is any indication. In short, a vixen.” Lani thought about it. Letting the name and reasoning rattle around in her mind before giving him a nod. She’d like to think he wasn’t too far off. 

“Not bad,” she said. “I think I can live with that.”

“Somehow I figured you could,” he hummed.

 

“I hope leliana made it through all this,” Cassandra said, a note of concern in her voice as she wiped demon ichor from her blade.

They had come across yet another band of demons on their way to the forward camp. _That makes, what? Three? Four bands of demon just since the rift? Creators… No wonder Cassandra’s worried._

“She’s resourceful, Seeker,” said Varric comfortingly. For all the crap he and the Seeker gave one another, he genuinely seemed to care. 

“We will see for ourselves when we reach the forward camp,” said Solas. “We are almost there.” As they reached the top of the hill, shouts met them.

“Another rift!” cried out Cassandra, drawing her sword and racing forward. One had formed just outside the camp’s gates blocking anyone who might seek to enter or leave.

“We must seal it!” Solas shouted. “Quickly!”

Once more they waded into battle.There were more demons this time. A second wave coming after the first. Lani’s muscles, once sore from disuse, now ached from exhaustion. Still she did not hesitate. She ran forward, a fireball blossoming from the end of her staff and hurtling at an oncoming demon, igniting it on contact. The beast clawed and racked at itself in a vain attempt to stem the flames, body dissipating as Lani watch, sucked back into the rift. 

Lani wheeled, searching for a new target in time to see two demons fall, each with a crossbow bolt through there skulls. Bianca really was an   
impressive weapon. 

Cassandra let out a roar, charging down a weaken wraith with her shield raised. The force of her impact exploded it, green wisps pulled back into the Fade. 

“Hurry! Use the mark!” Solas called as the last demon fell in shattered chucks of ice. She reach forward willing the mark to act upon the rift. Again green light shot from her palm and the air was filled with the hiss and crackle of the strange power. The rift exploded outwards just as the first had, vanishing. 

Cassandra rushed past a Lavellan bent over with hands against her thighs, to the gate guards nearby. 

“The rift is gone. Open the gate,” she shouted.

“Right away, Lady Cassandra,” replied a guard.

“We are clear for the moment,” said Solas coming up beside the panting elven woman. “Well done.”

“Whatever that thing on your hand is, Vixen, it’s useful,” Varric said. 

“No argument there,” Lani sighed, straightening. This was turning out to be an incredibly long day and she had a feeling it was no where near over.


	3. Dissent and Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up the mountain we go

Angry shouting could be heard as the group moved through the camp, which was really more a collection of supplies on an old but well preserved stone bridge. Leliana and a man dressed in white and red Chantry robes were arguing. Their heated voiced carrying on the mountain wind.

“We must get the prisoner to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only hope,” Leliana said fervently.

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this errand in futility,” the man was shouting. 

“I have caused trouble?” the rogue retorted.

“You. Cassandra. The Most Holy - haven’t you all done enough already?”

“You are not in command here!” the woman spat at him.

“Enough! I will not have it!” They looked up as the small group approached. “Ah, here they come,” the man sneered. Lani Lavellan could already tell she was not going to like this fellow.

“You made it,” Leliana said with a nod of her head to Cassandra. “Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

“I know who she is,” the man hissed, glaring at the elven woman. _If looks could kill, I’d be ash._ “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.” _Well that didn’t take long,_ Lani thought with a roll of her eyes pursing of her lips.

“‘Order me’?” Cassandra sneered taking an aggressive step toward him. To his credit, the Chancellor didn’t back down. “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“Shots fired,” mumbled Varric under his breath, too quiet for any but Lani and Solas to hear.

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” 

“Shots returned.”

“Hush,” said Solas nudging him in the ribs.

“We serve The Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” Leliana said siding with the Seeker. 

“Justinia is dead!” the man exclaimed, lifting his arms in exasperation. “We must elect a replacement. And obey _her_ orders on the matter!”  
“Isn’t closing the Breach the rather more pressing issue?” Lani asked eyes narrowing, unable to stop herself from weighing in. Solas hummed in agreement behind her, the others nodding. “Now seems rather the time for decisive action not political pageantry.” Let the Chantry bicker when the world wasn’t about to be swallowed by the sky.

“You brought this on us in the first place!” The chancellor spat at Lani, distaste and hatred marring his aged features. He turned to Cassandra saying, “call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” The wind had left his sails. 

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra insisted.

“How?” he asked in defeat. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the Temple, even with all your soldiers.” 

“We must get to the Temple,” she said firmly. “It’s the quickest route.” 

“But not the safest,” countered the ginger rogue. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains,” she said gesturing to the tall peaks around them.

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Cassandra said sweeping her arms in front of her in a dismissive gesture. “It’s too risky.”  
“Listen to me,” the Chancellor pleaded with them. “Abandon this now before more lives are lost!”

At that moment, the Breach let out a horrible rumbling groan ripping the sky further apart. The mark on the elven woman’s hand flickered and flared, bright green energy swirling around her wrist and forearm. Lani snarled in pain, the feral sound tearing its way from her throat as she clutched at her wrist. But she did not fall. 

The others stared in fascination and fear at the strange power amongst them. Solas’s gaze especially focused on the woman before them. He saw how her shoulders tensed, the muscles of her neck standing out as she bore the force of the magic of the foreign magic. His face remained neutral but he couldn’t stop the ache he felt for her. He was supposed to bare the mark. Not her. Not… It didn’t matter. He had been a fool and now she suffered for his mistakes. It was impressive she still lived at all. A testament to her spirit, he supposed, and his ability to contain the mark. But how long she could endure, he did not know. 

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra asked the marked elf after the tremor had passed. 

“Now you’re asking me what I think?” Lani scoffed, as she forcibly lowered her arm to her side once more, green flickers slowly returning to her lower arm then palm. After everything- being blown up, thrown in prison, interrogated, cursed, reviled, had more swords than she could count pointed at her, dragged up a mountain swarming with demons, her hand trying to kill her, and discovering that she is about to engage in a suicide run- _now_ they wanted her opinion! 

“You have the mark,” Solas pointed out cooly.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra continued. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

“You’re leaving it up to me. On my head be it?” Lavellan snapped irritably. She pinched the bridge of her nose. A deep ache was beginning to form between her brows. “So be it,” she sighed. “Show me what you have.” They had maps for her to study. Each of the two options carefully laid out before her. She did not like the idea of using men for bait. Just thinking about the possible casualties made her skin crawl. However, Lani well knew time was running out and getting her safely to the Breach was the most important thing. She knew she could make it through the mountain path alone if she had to. If the others fell she would be able to to succeed by virtue of the rare magic she’d borne since she was child, though she desperately hoped it would not come to that. She could not say the same about a direct charge. “Use the mountain path,” she said finally, tapping the map with a long index finger. “Work together.” She looked at each of them in turn. “You all know what’s at stake.”

“Leliana,” Cassandra said nodding. “Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.” The rogue moved off immediately, heading into the valley, gathering men as she did, marshaling orders. 

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” sneered Roderick as the four companions passed him. Lani snarled under her breath. She may not like the Seeker much but at least the woman was willing to do what was necessary. The same could not be said for the Chancellor. If he had his way, the world would burn and Lani would be hung long before she could do anything to help.

 

The road into the mountains was narrow and slippery. One misstep could send any of them careening into what would surely be fatal fall. Lani took the lead, each step carefully placed as she trudged through the ever deepening snow. Cassandra close on her kneels. Varric came next, motioning to for Solas to keep up as the tall elf strode along after them, using his staff for added stability. 

It didn’t take long to reach the series of the ladders and platforms that led to the mountain passage. The wood used to build them was old and worn but in relatively good condition. Still each step elicited a creak for the old timbers and their metal bracketing. The wind buffeted them violently. 

“The tunnel should be just ahead,” called Cassandra as they climbed. “The path to the temple lies just beyond it.”

“What manner of tunnel is this?” Solas shouted over the roaring wind. “A mine?”

“Part of an old mining complex,” Cassandra confirmed. “These mountains are full of such paths.”

“And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?” asked Varric hesitantly, the worry in his words unmistakable.

“Along with whatever has detained them,” said Solas. 

“Thanks for that cheery thought, Solas,” Lavellan called to him. “Here I thought they got distracted by a basket puppies or something.”

“We shall see soon enough,” said Cassandra gravely.

Just as the Seeker had said, at the top of the ladders was the entrance of the mine. Strong, well persevered stone arching high above them. Fire braziers alight on either side of the opening. A pack of demons waiting to greet their arrival. _Cheery._

Demons swarmed the entire mine, in fact. Lani hoped desperately their numbers would not continue to swell the closer they got to the Breach. If there were many more their small group would likely be overwhelmed. 

Running for the mine exit, trying to make up for the time lost in battle, Cassandra all but fell over the prone bodies of some of her men.   
Varric sighed grimly. “Guess we found the soldiers.” 

“That… cannot be all of them,” said Cassandra disbelieving. She stared at the bodies as if she were counting their number in her head. Studying their faces.

“So the others could be holed up ahead.” There was hope in Varric’s voice though whether it was genuine or for Cassandra’s benefit alone Lavellan was not sure. 

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas reminded them. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.” _As if we could forget._

“I’m leaving that to our elven friend here,” Varric said following after the dalish mage. 

“If we can, we will help them,” Lani called, moving down the path. Solas grimaced.

“I cannot stop the spread of the mark,” he reminded her, worry seeping into his voice.

She turned to him saying, “we may need all the men we can get to help with the Breach. And if there is a rift, well…I’m not leaving some demon spewing tear in the Veil wide open when I have the option. Creators know someone would make me walk my ass back up here to close it. A walk I have zero intention of doing. May as well just get it over with now.” He nodded, conceding her point. 

 

“Lady Cassandra!” a soldier shouted as the group neared a rather large buzzing tear.

“Lieutenant! You’re alive,” Cassandra called back both relieved and surprised, hurrying over.

“Just barely.” The lieutenant said breathlessly, her hair having come undone about her face as she battled. “A little help?”

“On it,” rumbled Lani staff already crackling with power. Lighting arched from demon to demon. _Creators, there are so many._ On a whim, she thrust her marked hand at the rift. Green energy roiled and whirred, demons crying out as the rift pulled at them before snapping back in place with a crack. The beasts fell, stunned for a time and injured. “Well that’s good to know,” Lani called as she renewed her attack sending a jet of fire at a fallen demon. 

“Indeed,” Solas called back impressed, a barrier snapping up around him and Varric. He would not have thought she would so quickly master the mark. Perhaps she did stand a chance of closing the Breach. 

Cassandra bashed a demon hard with her shield sending it tumbling back through the rift, turing her continuing momentum into a swing the cut deeply into a demon lunging for her back. The soldiers were spent but fought on as best they could. Daggers flashed. Claws lashed across metal, biting into leathers and the skin beneath. The air was filled with the sounds of desperate battle. Cries of victory and pain issuing from members of both sides.

The moment the last demon fell, Lavellan aimed the mark at the rift and released its power, yanking back hard against the magical tension once it reached its peak. The air smelled thickly of ozone in the wake of the exploding magic. 

“Sealed. As before,” Solas nodded beside her. He flashed her a small smile. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.” She returned the smile.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric said from behind them.

“Thank the Maker, you finally arrived, Lady Cassandra,” the lieutenant gasped as Cassandra helped her to her feet. “I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

“Thank our prisoner, Lieutenant,” Cassandra said turning to Lavellan as she approached. “She insisted we come this way.”

‘The prisoner?” The lieutenant asked surprised. 

“Closing rifts and saving soldiers. It’s what I do,” Lani said with a shrug.

“Then you have my sincere gratitude.” The lieutenant thumped one fist to her chest plate in salute, bowing slightly.

“The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment,” said Cassandra to the exhausted soldier, an encouraging hand resting on the woman’s back. “Go while you still can.”

“At once,” she said to the Seeker. To her men she called, “Quickly, let’s move.” Lani watched as the exhausted soldiers helped one another from the mountain side. None were uninjured but they should be alright to get back to camp and then Haven.

The path ahead appears to be clear of demons as well,” said Solas adjusting his grip on his staff as he leaned against it watching the rescued soldiers retreating. 

“Let’s hurry before that changes,” said Cassandra taking up the lead toward their final decent into the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

“So… holes in the Fade don’t just _accidentally_ happen, right?” Varric asked Solas as they climbed down a short series of ladders.

“If enough magic is brought to bare, it is possible,” said Solas.

“But there are easier ways to make things explode.”

“That is true.”

“We will consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past,” said Cassandra from in front of them, her voice stern. 

Lani said nothing, distracted by the huge pillars of rock jutting up around them at odd angles. Awed at the thought of the force that would have been required to make them. They were not natural to the geology of the area to be sure and were certainly new since last she was here a few days ago.The same green light that pulsed through the above sky seemed to ripple over the stone here, like veins throbbing to the rhythm of some strange heartbeat. It was beautiful… and it was terrifying.


	4. Light In The Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first attempt at the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if rehashing the opening of the game is a bit dull. I promise more interesting things will happen in the future. Like I mentioned before, part of the reason I wrote this was to remember this particular play through with this particular Inquisitor.

_How could anyone survive this? How did I survive this?_

The air stank of charred and rotting meat. Ash and smoke clogged the nose and throat.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” said Solas. His voice tinted with sorrow at the devastation around them, stepping respectfully around a prone form. The ground was coated in a thick layer of ash. Debris everywhere. Fallen walls and over turned pillars. If Lani did not know better she would never have thought this had been a beautiful temple but a few days previous. 

“What’s left of it,” grumbled Varric. 

“That is where you walked out of the Fade. And our soldiers found you,” Cassandra said to Lani, motioning to a somewhat clear patch of stone between ruined walls and columns. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” Lani said nothing, remembering that Cassandra had mentioned as much before. The marked elf continuing deeper into the sundered temple. Careful as to wear she placed her feet lest she step on one of the poor souls who perished there. 

Clouds of ash rose around her ankles with each step, sticking to her boots and leggings. A few fires still burned here and there. Air thick with smoke and the stench of death threatened to make her heave. All around them figures lay strewn in the debris. The charred and twisted bodies of those who had attended the Divine’s Conclave. Whatever had caused their deaths had not been quick as many of them were locked forever in positions of fear and agony. Boney hands clutching at fleshless cheeks as mouth issued silent screams. Bodies curled in fetal position as if trying to shield themselves from the blast. Spines arching, limbs twisting in torment. 

The worst were those that seemed partially ‘submerged.’ Whole portions of their bodies lost within what should have been solid stone. As if the rock had turned liquid long enough to claim them in an embrace they could never escape. It was all so much worse than Lani could have imagined. Impossible to tell one form from another. Who was a mage, a templar, a cleric, men and women, human and elf. They all looked the same now. All defining features lost save the terror of their last moments. How Lavellan could have lived where so many others had not this was beyond her. 

The dalish elf blew a gentle icy breath across one burnt and mangled body, extinguishing the flames that still flickered over the corpse. Closing her eye against the welling of emotions within her. _No one deserves to die like this. No one._ Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat. She swallowed hard. Sorrow turning to rage within her. 

They rounded a corner into what Lani assumed had once been the Temple’s great chamber. More bodies littered the ground. Mouths open, shrieking. Whether in pain or horror she was not sure and did not want to be sure. The hall was ripped open to the sky. Great red columns of stone shone with an eery internal light all around them. 

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker?” Varric said nervously.

“I see it, Varric,” She snapped too focused on the task at hand to pay him much mind.

“But what’s it doing here?” Anxiety clear in his every word.

“Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupting it,” offered Solas.

“It’s evil,” the dwarf said shaking himself. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

In the center of the chaos was the largest rift Lani had ever seen. The great green crystalline structure at its heart the size of the tavern back in Haven. It pulsed and hummed, vibrations Lani felt in her rib cage more than heard. Viridescent light flowed all around it, drifting upward, seeming to feed the Breach far above them. 

“The Breach is a _long_ way up,” muttered Varric as they stood studying it. 

“You’re here!” Leliana greeted as she entered the temple behind them, accompanied by a squad of her men. “Thank the Maker.”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra ordered. Leliana nodding once and immediately doing as needed, her own bow drawn. 

Lavellan’s eyes went wide as she stared at the monstrous Breach above her. How am I supposed to close that, she thought in despair. _It…it is so much more than the others._ She flexed the knuckles of her left hand. Right hand settling over her chest where her necklace should have been. _Creators, guide me now. Stand by me in my time of need._

“This is your chance to end this,” said the Seeker, stepping in front of the dalish mage. “Are you ready?”

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there,” Lani said nodding to the Breach.

“No,” said Solas shaking his head. “This rift is the first.” He gestured to the crystalline structure before them. “It is the key. Seal it and perhaps we seal the Breach.” 

“Then let’s find a way down,” said Cassandra looking about, “and be careful.”

_“Now is the hour of our victory,”_ a deep voice boomed around them. Voice shaking dust and ash from the ledges. _“Bring forth the sacrifice.”_

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra said with a start, hand hovering over her sword hilt ready to draw.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas replied with a wary shrug.

Lani’s mark sparked, glowing brighter the closer she got to the rift.

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_  
_“Someone help me,”_ called a new voice. 

“That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra breathed, surprised and horrified. 

_“What’s going on here?”_ It was Lani who spoke, voice coming from the tear, though she did not remember saying it. She stopped, gazing up at the rift, brow furrowed in confusion, head tilting, listening hard. The mark on her hand pulsing in time to the rift’s undulations. 

“That was your voice,” Cassandra said behind her, words dipped in disbelief and angry accusation. “Most Holy called out to you. But…” 

The rift cracked and rumbled, an image appearing before their eyes. The Divine locked in some sort of magical binding, a mysterious shadowy being in front of her, hard to make out in any detail but huge by comparison to the woman. Lani running into the room asking, “what’s going on here?”

_“Run while you can!”_ The Divine cried out to her. _“Warn them!”_

_“We have an intruder,”_ rumbled the dark form, eyes glowing red. An inhumanly long pointed finger aimed directly at the hazy Lani. _“Slay the elf!”_ There was a blinding flash of light and the vision was gone. 

“You were there,” Cassandra accused charging down the elven woman. “Who attacked? And the Divine? Is she… Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” She snarled moving to block Lavellan’s path. 

“I don’t remember!” Lani growled back in heated frustration, eyes narrowing, brow lowered, waiting for the warrior woman to either strike or get out of her way. 

“Echoes of what happened here,” said Solas walking past them. His dreamlike voice cutting through the tension as he gazed up at the whirling tendrils of the rift. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” Cassandra stalked over to him. Lani following. “This rift is not sealed but it is closed. Albeit, temporarily.” He turned to face them fully. “I believe, that with the mark the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely.” His brow lowered in a scowl. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.” 

“That means demons,” called Cassandra to the gathering soldiers. “Stand ready!” The men and women moved into position all around them and the rift, swords drawn and arrow notched. With one last nod, Cassandra drew her own blade and prepared for battle. 

Lani turned her attention to the tear not needing to be told what to do. With a deep steadying breath, she raised her marked hand, this time drawing the power away from the rift, opening it. 

It burst in a rush of sound and wind. A great bolt of power arched over their heads and the largest demon Lani had ever seen materialized with a roar, landing hard enough to make the ground tremble. It stood six times her height, if not more, and was broader than two merchants wagons parked side-by-side.

“Now!” shouted Cassandra, thrusting her sword above her head by way of signal. Arrows hissed through the air, most simply bouncing off the enormous demon’s heavily armored skin. It laughed. Blue lightening rippling over its body.

“What the hell is that thing?” cried Lani, staff twirling before being slammed into the ground, a bolt of fire hitting the beast squarely in its broad chest.  
“A pride demon,” called Solas, his own magic flying. “A powerful one.” As if on cue the demon laughed again sending a massive ball of energy hurtling toward the Seeker. Cassandra dove, rolling out of the way. The attack missing her by inches. She shouted in defiance and charged, shield raised high to protect her face and chest. She ran under its sweeping arms, striking out just below the armored plates of its heels- or what Lani would call heels, demon anatomy not being her forte. 

The demon bellowed, lashing out with what appeared to be whips made of pure lightening, slamming several soldiers to the ground. 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s probably immune to electric damage,” Lani shouted to Solas as she passed, heading for a better position.

“Likely a good assumption.”

“Oh goodie,” she snarled. “Fire it is, then.”

“We must stripe its defenses! Ware it down,” said Cassandra her breaths coming in heavy gasps as she spun around its legs, sword glinting in the unsettling light. Lani was struck by a thought. Running to get a clear shot. She aimed her marked hand at the rift and released a jet of power, holding it as long as she could before snapping it back. The demon grunted, falling to its kneels, stunned. 

“Good move, Vixen! A few more of those and we’ll have him.” Her reply was cut off as two smaller wraiths knocked her off balance from beneath, sending her sprawling. Staff spinning away. She twisted on to her back, free casting frantically to slow their advance. A bolt of stone flew over her head, throwing one demon across the battle field with a sickening crunch. She glanced behind her to see Solas building power for another spell, lip twitching up slightly in subtle snarl. She rolled out of the way as he send a jet of ice straight at the second demon, freezing it solid. She continued her roll come up to her feet, staff in hand and swinging as she once again took aim, spending a bolt through the frozen demon. It shattered. Lani spun, sights set upon the pride demon as she unleashed a powerful blast of fire. 

The demon howled but did not slow, forming another ball of energy between it giant palms. It spun in Varric’s direction. The dwarf, attention on a lesser wraith, didn’t move fast enough, going down in a heap as the energy swarmed over him. Lani ran to him, hauling him heavily to his feet and thrusting one of her own health potions into his hands before wheeling away. 

From her new angle she could once more disrupt the rift, spending the pride demon to its knees and a few smaller wraiths back into the Fade. It was the opening Cassandra needed. She leapt on the fallen demon’s back, running up its spine, and drove her blade deep into its skull. It roared, ichor flying from the wound as it thrashed. Cassandra tucked and rolled, springing back to her feet almost immediately upon hitting the ruined stone floor, sword in hand as the bellowing beast fell. 

“Now! Seal the rift!” Cassandra shouted. “Do it!” Lavellan leap from her perch, racing closer the rift before anything else could fall from it. Arm ablaze up to her shoulder as the power surged forward from her outstretched palm. She growled biting hard on the shriek that wanted to escape. Lips peeling back in frustration. She could feel the warring magics tearing her apart, blood singing as though it was boiling within her veins. But she held firm. This had to work! What did it matter if it killed her, so long as the breach was sealed? The people made safe again?

_Come on, Lavellan!_ Solas watched, brow furrowed as he inwardly egged her own. _You must close it!_ All his work, all his theories, all the lives of this world rested on her shoulders. If she couldn’t close the Breach, they were all doomed. No, Solas thought. His hope quickly fading as the dalish mage struggled with the rift. It was a power far greater than her own. To hope that she could control it… The longer she was connected the less likely it seemed she would be strong enough to succeed. _This isn’t what I wanted. Never what I intended! This isn’t how it is supposed to happen. None of it!_ If only he’d been strong enough. If only he’d born the mark, everything would be different. He was a fool. A fool forced to watch as his mistakes tore this world apart. 

Lani shouted in defiance, pouring her own mana into the mark. It took it hungrily, delving deeper into her. Straight to the core of her. Her connection to the Fade. Her power. She did not resist. 

An ear splitting crack echoed through the mountains like thunder. The rift slamming shut and erupting upward, throwing those gathered to the ground with the force of it. The emerald bolt heading straight for the heart of the Breach was visible even from Haven. The Breach exploded upon impact, sending waves of light rippling across the cloud covered sky. 

At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, cheers began to go up as the soldiers righted themselves, looking up to see the Breach halted. Varric whooped, fists in the air. Solas and Cassandra sharing private victorious smiles. The Breach was still above them and there were still many questions to be answered. But the victory was well fought and worth celebrating. 

As the dust began to settle, their expressions fell. Lani Lavellan, their temporary savior and only likely hope, lay half curled, several meters from where she had started, back against a jagged rock she had likely been thrown against in the blast. Steam or smoke rose in curling tendrils from her borrowed armor. The mark on her limp outstretched palm flickered dully. She did not move. Face and clothing covered in dirt and blood. The ash in front of her nose and mouth barely stirred. 

“Oh, Vixen,” Varric said sadly moving slowly to her side. Solas knelt, checking her pulse, feeling along her neck and spine for any breaks before he gently lifted and rolled her onto her back. 

“Is she…?” Cassandra asked running over to them. 

“She is not dead, Seeker,” Solas said quietly. “Not yet anyway. But we need to get her back to Haven. Quickly.”

“And the Breach…?” Solas brushed back a lock of stray hair from the dalish woman’s face, inspecting the deep gasp it hid along her hairline. 

“Stilled for now,” he said without looking up. “She was not strong enough to close it fully. The attempt nearly killed her outright. Still she has bought us time.”


	5. Your Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lani finds herself waking up once more in Haven, thought this time in a hut on a bed instead of in a dungeon. The Breach remains and the future is uncertain.

Lani Lavellan awoke. This time she found herself on a soft if humble bed rather than a cold stone floor. It was an upgrade she was grateful for. Her eyes stung in the bright room and back and head throbbed horribly, but she seemed otherwise fine… well apart from the painful glowing nonsense still marring her left palm. The dalish woman rose slowly, groaning. The sound startling a poor little slip of a girl so badly she dropped the box she was carrying. The contents spilling across the floor. 

“Oh!” she cried out surprised. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” Lani’s brow arched slowly. The elven girl looked terrified, as if she had just come face to face with an angry drake. It was not a reaction the groggy dalish elf had anticipated. 

“Why are you frightened?” Lavellan asked, becoming alarmed. “What happened?”

“That’s wrong isn’t it? I..I’ve said the wrong thing,” the girl stammered, shaking her head in self-reflective chastisement.

“I don’t… think so..” said Lani hesitantly, eyes narrowed in thought, more confused than ever. 

Abruptly, the girl fell to her knees, scattering the box’s contents further as she bowed low, nose almost touching the ground. The apostate’s eye brows rose higher, threatening to vanish altogether into her tousled bronze hair. She winced, fingers testing a sore spot near her hairline. There was apparently a freshly healed wound there. _At least that explains part of the headache,_ the dalish elf thought. Lani had never been bowed to like this, with such reverence. It felt… weird, like a bad joke and her sister Ellana was soon to pop out from behind a door screaming ‘gotcha.’

“I beg your forgiveness… and your blessing. I am but a humble servant,” the girl said, words slow and heavily laden with respect. Lani just stared, trying not to gawk and failing. “You are back in Haven, My Lady,” the tawny elf said once more looking at her. _My Lady?_ the dalish elf thought in shock. Lani managed to close her mouth and school her features, though she was sure she looked anything but calm and reserved. “They say you saved us. The Breach stop growing just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about the last three days.” _Three days? Have I been out three whole days? That makes it, what? A week? Since I’ve eaten anything of my own accord.That explains the hunger._

“So you’re saying…” Her brows knit in confusion as she searched for the right words. “They’re happy with me?” Lani asked suspiciously. She had been sure if she survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes she would be executed soon after. At the very least, jailed and awaiting trial. To hear that the same people who had reviled her just a short time ago were now pleased… It was a feeling that… Well… It was something she had certainly not expected.

“I’m only saying what I heard,” the young elf said quickly, rising. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” She backed steadily toward the door, hands out stretched in the marked elf’s direction as if politely trying to ward her off or keep her at bay. Clearly, she was still nervous to be in the same room with Lavellan. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘At once.’”

“Where is she?” 

“In the chantry. With the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once!’ she said.” And the girl was gone, sprinting out the door and out of sight. _That was… odd,_ thought Lani, as the door swung shut in the wake of the fleeing elf. 

She rose slowly, stretching to try to relieve the dull ache in her muscles, and inspected her room. To her delight, a small tray of breads, cheeses, and dried fruits had been left for her on a small desk. She picked at the morsels hungrily. 

Propped up in a nearby corner was the pack she had carried with her from her clan, along with the Keeper’s First Staff she was fond of carrying. Lani dug in the pockets of the pack hoping to find her lost necklace but came up empty handed. _Lost then,_ she sighed. 

The elf pulled on the mage robes that rested on a chest nearby. They were nothing special but of far higher quality than the mercenary gear she had been in before and marginally better than her old clan gear. Too her great surprise they fit her well, as if specifically tailored for her. 

Lavellan let down her mid back length hair, undoing the well worn braid. Once combed with hasty fingers, it was piled at the base of her neck and pinned in place. She felt greasy and gross but there was no hope for that at the moment. Lavellan rubbed her face with her hands trying to banish the last vestiges of sleep before stretching once more. She let out extremely unladylike noises as she did so, her joints popping and cracking. _Creators, I’m getting too old for this crap._ She sighed, grabbed her staff and made for the door.

She stopped dead in her tracks upon stepping outside. For two reasons. One: the giant gapping hole in the sky was still there. _Shit._ It rippled and flexed, but at least it didn’t seem as angry as it had before. Two: Soldiers lined the path leading from the hut she had been placed in, each standing at attention and saluting. _Okay, then. That’s… new._ She walked down the path cautiously, making her way toward the Chantry. She glanced nervously around herself as she went, painfully aware of all the eyes on her. Doing her best not to fidget. People crowded the narrow paths of Haven, all craning to look at her. Lani caught clips of whispered conversation here and there as she passed.

“That’s her,” an old man murmured to the young barn maiden beside him. “That’s the Herald of Andraste. They said when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.”

“Hush,” the maid said. “We shouldn’t disturb her.” 

“That’s her!” A young boy said in awe. “She stopped the Breach from getting any bigger!”

“I heard she was supposed to close it entirely,” his companion mutter, straining to get a good look at the dalish elf as she passed. “Still it’s more than anyone else has done,” the woman sighed. “Demons would have had us otherwise. Still, a lot of rifts left all over. Little cracks in the sky.”

“She can seal those though,” he said, standing on his tiptoes to look over the soldiers’ shoulders in front of him. “The Herald of Andraste.” Lani’s brow furrowed and her head twitched to the side to glance at him. _Herald of Andraste? Are they taking about me? But I’m dalish._ She was utterly perplexed and her uneasy was growing with every step. 

“Someone had better. You won’t seal those rifts with the Chant of Light.”

Lavellan was nearing the Chantry now. An old, well worn but well cared for structure that stood like a welcome beacon on the highest level of Haven. The elf had never been so happy to see a Chantry in her life. Wanting to get inside and behind the heavy wooden door as much to close out the prying eyes that were quickly grating her nerves as to talk to Cassandra. Lani quickened her steps across the snow dusted ground. The end in sight and hopefully a few answers along with it.

“Chancellor Roderick says the chantry wants nothing to do with us,” whispered a worried woman in robes near the blessed doors.

“That isn’t Chancellor Roderick’s decision, Sister,” another said, as both rebuke and comfort. 

Lani slipped past them, closing the worn doors behind her with a satisfying thud and letting out the breath she had been holding since she left the cabin. 

Apparently, she was now some holy woman to a god she didn’t even worship. If things were what they seemed, a dalish apostate blessed and chosen of the Chantry’s Andraste herself. Things just kept getting weirder. 

Already Lavellan could hear the voices at the end of the entry hall behind a shut door. They did not sound happy. _Now that’s more like what I was expecting,_ Lani sighed brushing a few stray hairs from her face as she moved for the door in question, stopping just outside.

“Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately!” Chancellor Roderick’s angry voice was unmistakable. “To be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” _No surprise there._ The cleric had made his views on Lani clear long before now. She was unsurprised that they hadn’t changed. 

“I do not believe she is guilty,” came Cassandra’s firm even voice, heat flicking at the edges of her words. _At least I have her on my side,_ thought Lani gratefully, leaning closer to the door to listen, hand coming to rest against the age-smoothed frame. Worn metal fastening cool until her touch.

“The elf _failed_ , Seeker! The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know she intended it this way.” I really don’t like that man, she thought to herself

“I do not believe that!” Cassandra spat. 

“That is not for you to decide,” he retorted. “Your duty is to serve the Chantry.”

“ _My duty_ is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor,” the Seeker shot back. “ _As is your’s._ ” Taking that as her cue, Lavellan pushed open the door and stepped through.

“Chain her!” Roderick shouted almost immediately to the guards, pointing at the elf accusingly. “I want her prepared for travel to the Capital for trial.” Lani stared hard at the man, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, head held high.

“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra said with a dismissive wave of her hand. The men chose her orders over the Chancellor’s, filling orderly from the room. It only seemed to infuriate the cleric more. Lani didn’t blame the guards, however. The Seeker had fought by their side, wading into the same battles she asked them fight, while Roderick had remained relatively out of harms way simply barking orders. That sort of camaraderie under fire builds a bond of respect the cleric would never fully understand. 

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick warned in a seething hiss.

“The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will _not_ ignore it,” she snarled back.

“So I’m _still_ a suspect,” Lani asked exasperated, shaking her head in defiance. “Even after what we just did?”

“You absolutely _are,_ ” Roderick spat harshly.

“No. She is not,” countered the Seeker firmly.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the conclave,” said Leliana, entering the exchange for the first time, sharp eyes narrowed upon the Chancellor. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others,” her icy stare a suspicious challenge, “or have allies that yet live.”

“I am a suspect,” he asked repulsed at the accusation. 

“ _You._ And many others,” the rogue confirmed, lips twitching in a snarl.

“But _not_ the prisoner?” The words dripping with contempt as if the women before him were utterly incompetent. 

“I heard the voices in the temple,” Cassandra said, fists clenching at her side. “The Divine called to her for help.”

“So her survival, that thing on her hand- all a coincidence?” he said in mocking disbelief. 

“Providence,” the seeker replied shortly. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.” 

“The Breach is stable now. What more do you want from me?” Lani asked of the women, not sure she liked the direction this conversation was heading. She had her own responsibilities to get back to, people to care for, an entire clan soon to be her’s to lead. She had tried to close the Breach, done what was asked of her to the best of her ability, and, while she wasn’t entirely successful, she had stopped its growth. Wasn’t that enough? 

“We must try again,” Cassandra said firmly, her fist coming to rest on the edge of the impressive wooden, paper strewn table beside her. 

‘The Breach remains,” Leliana said a might more gently. “And your mark is still our only hope of closing it.” _Apparently not near enough,_ Lani thought bitterly, glaring at the women mildly.

“This is _not_ for you to decide,” Roderick hissed. Cassandra stalked angrily to the far side of the room, picked up a heavy tome, and slammed it down hard on the table. The sound of it rendering them silent. The worn cover embossed with the sunburst logo. 

“You know what this is, Chancellor,” Cassandra challenged, one finger poking the thick cover. “A writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She stormed over to the man and he had the good sense to back away. “We will close the Breach,” she stated as she advanced on him. “We will find those responsible. And we will restore order _with_ or _without_ your approval!” The Chancellor looked at the faces of the gathered women. Seeing that he was out numbered and outmatched, he turned and stormed angrily from the room without another word, leaving them in his wake. His head shaking as he went.

“This is the Divine’s directive,” said Leliana with reverence. “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” Her tone shifted, becoming darker as she looked a the Seeker. “We aren’t ready,” she said bluntly, glowering at the Seeker. “We have no leader, no numbers, and now,” her eyes followed the trail Roderick had taken as he left, “no Chantry support.” 

“But we have no choice.We must act now,” Cassandra said before turning to the elf. “With you at our side.” _Um… What?_ thought Lani. She had no idea what any of this meant. In all honestly, she’d spent the better part of the last week unconscious and what she was awake for had been the most confusing and terrifying series of event she had witnessed in a long time. Possibly ever. 

“What is the ‘Inquisition of old’ exactly?” Lani asked eyeing the tome on the table skeptically. Her knowledge of the Chantry was limited and that of ancient Chantry history even more so. If she was going to pulled any further into this nonsense she would at least do so as well informed as possible. 

“It preceded the Chantry,” Leliana explained. “People who banned together to restore order in a world gone mad.” 

“Well… _this_ is certainly a world gone mad if ever I have seen it,” Lani remarked dryly. 

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the templar order. But the templars have lost their way.”

“‘Lost their way’? I think that is being a bit delicate, don’t you, Cassandra.” Lani’s glowered. Cassandra raised a placating hand and continued. 

“Be that as is may, we need those who can do what must be done unified under a single banner once more.”

“But aren’t you still part of the Chantry?” Lani asked, brow lifting. It’s not like she and the Chantry were on particularly good terms at the moment, nor had they ever been. “I’m not becoming one of their pets, if that is what you are asking.” Cassandra let out a breathy ironic chuckle.

“Is that what you see?”

“The Chantry will take time to find a new Divine,” Leliana elaborated. “And then it will wait for her direction.”

“But we can not wait!” Cassandra declared, fists clenched in frustration as she paced. “So many Grand Clerics died at the Conclave,” she sighed in bitter sorrow before her voice hardened once more and she turned her attention to the elf. “No. We are on our own. Perhaps forever.”

Lani shook her head, face downcast. _What a mess,_ she thought. She rubbed at her brows as she thought. Her mind spun as she worked out all the angles. Then her eyes flew open wide as the dots connected.

“You’re trying to start a holy war,” she accused, not quite managing to keep the distain from her voice. “And you want to put me at the center of it!”

“We are already at war,” Cassandra replied smoothly, eyes hard as they bore into Lani. “You are already involved. Its mark is upon you.” She motioned to the flickering wound on Lani’s hand and the elf’s eyes followed the gesture, hand flexing. “As to whether the war is holy, that depends on what we discover.” 

“I am no prophet and no ‘Herald of Andraste.’ I am just an elven mage, a First to my Keeper, trying to do right by my people.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said the Seeker. “Perhaps you are not holy. But we will see in time.”

“What if I refuse?” Lavellan asked, eyes narrowed. 

“You can go if you wish,” said Leliana, lightly. Lani eyed her. 

“After all of this, all that had happened so far, you’ll just let me leave? Go back to my people? Just like that?” the dalish elf questioned, brows low over her eyes in distrust. The Divine’s Left Hand nodded. The option was sorely tempting. 

“You should know that while some believe you Chosen, many still think you guilty,” Cassandra warned. “The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.” And there is was. It was not a threat. Not in truth. Rather, it was a simple statement of fact. The elf knew as much. With the Divine dead many still hungered for someone to blame. She was as good a target as any. Convenient. The bridge of Lani’s nose wrinkled- the branches of her tattoos lacing as she swallowed the snarl of frustration that wanted to bubble up in her throat. 

“We can also help _you_ ,” Leliana offered gently. “You personally, as well as your clan and kin.” The elf looked up at her. The rogues eyes were warm, ernest. She meant it. 

“It will not be easy if you stay,” Cassandra sighed shaking her head. “But you can not pretend this has not changed you. That this does not affect your people as well.” The dalish elf studied the floor for a long moment, arms folded over her chest.

“If you are truly trying to restore order…” Lani growled hesitantly, eyes closed in resignation. She did not like this, but they’re logic was sound. They needed her. The world needed her, in point of fact. Something she could not deny nor was she inclined to run away from. There was also potential for bettering the lives of her kin, at least. If not the standing of all elves, which is not something she could ignore lightly.

“That is the plan,” Leliana assured.

“Help us fix this before it’s too late,” Cassandra said extending a hand to the Clan Lavellan First. Lani eyed her for a moment before taking it and shaking it firmly. 

 

Leliana left swiftly to dispatch ravens to both the rebel mages and the templars. It was likely the newly formed Inquisition would need the support of one or the other in order to close the Breach for good. 

A tall blonde man in bright silver armor was seen hammering a noticed to the door of the Chantry, the dark feathers of his Commander’s cloak stirring in the mountain breeze. Villagers, pilgrims, and soldiers alike gathered to read the declaration. 

Leliana’s silhouette sat huddled her tent writing the necessary messages the ravens would carry. Her spies flit in and out like wraiths delivering reports and being issued new orders. 

Large heavy banners were thrown from the Chantry’s second story- deep red standards with white logos: the templar sword, point down-facing, behind the Maker’s eye, all surrounded by a sunburst. 

This Inquisition had clearly been in the planning long before the Conclave. The pieces already set in place and ready to act. They could only hope it wasn’t already too late.


	6. A New Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know the village and her companions a bit better

The dalish elf had been dismissed until sometime later. They would need time to send word to those they hoped would help advise and aid the Inquisition and for those individuals to ready themselves before the meeting. Once ready, Lavellan would be brought before them and introduced. From there strategic plans would be made for the future. Cassandra urged the elf to rest, that there would be little enough of that soon, but Lani was restless. It seemed she had done a great deal of ‘resting’ in the last couple days. All the nervous excitement and action from the last few weeks setting her nerves on fire.

So instead, she wandered Haven. Learning its paths and buildings, she let one hand run along the cold stone retaining walls and rough wooden planks that made up the town. It was not a very large place but bustled with activity. _So this is to be my home away from home for now,_ she thought as she stood on a stone ledge, staring out at the mountains beyond the makeshift wall, fingers wrapped gently around the chiseled points at the top of the craved logs. She took a deep breath. The icy mountain air chilling her lungs and reddening her nose and ears. But it brought with it the comforting scent of pines and wood smoke. _It will take some getting used to._ A villager called a warm greeting up to her. _I have had worse homes,_ she mused, a small smile tugging at her lips. Another villager mumbled ‘knife ear’ as she passed. _And better._ Still it was all to be expected. 

Walking up a short flight of snow cover steps, all but lost in thought, Lavellan near bumped into the Solas as he gazed out at the view she had so recently been enjoying. 

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he greeted warmly enough as he helped to steady her, “the blessed hero sent to save us all.” Light notes of humor and sarcasm behind his words.

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?” Lani asked, a wry and weary smile tugging at the corners her lips. 

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they’re extinct,” he mused eyes sparkling with unvoiced amusement. “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” Lani dipped her head to him slightly in acknowledgement. He smiled and turned away, body language indicating that she should follow. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battle fields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” the tall elf began, voice distant and dreamlike as he let a few snow flakes dance around a raised hand, fingers moving lazily in time to their waltz. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” He turned back to the elven woman at she side, facing her fully as one slender brow arched. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Hopefully, the kind that lives to become that embarrassing former hero everyone has to put up with,” she smirked. It seemed unlikely any of them would survive this, but if they did… Lavellan could picture herself old and gray sitting by a campfire telling this story to the da’lenen as they watched eagerly. Ellana rolling her eyes at her adoptive sister’s tale having heard it hundreds of times before. Chiming in now and again with a snarky comment, but still she would smile, pale eyes bright and knowing against her dark skin.

“I can think of worse fates,” Solas said, a faint smile of his own gracing his lips.

“Me too,” she breathed wistfully. She shook herself, changing the subject quickly. “What do you mean by ruins and battle fields?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time as a history,” he explained. “Every battle field is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds.” Lani watched his hands as they moved subtly while he spoke. “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has seen.” She noticed the way his eye lit up to speak of it.

“You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins?” she asked, her brows raising as she cocked her head to one side, peering up at him. “Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“I _do_ set wards,” he chuckled, nodding. “And if you leave food out for the giant spiders they are usually content to live and let live.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” she shrugged. “Still I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. It’s… extraordinary.” It truly was. To think of all the things this mage may have been able to witness, all the knowledge he could gain. She was jealous, to say the least, and extremely curious.

“Thank you,” Solas said, clearly pleased by her interest. 

She was not like many others he had met in this world. She showed a flicker of curiosity and openness of mind he had frankly not expected from anyone, let alone a dalish elf. He was pleased by this discovery. But also wary. 

“It’s not a common field of study for obvious reasons,” he allowed. “Not so flashy as throwing fire or lighting.” He said with a knowing look, an eyebrow lifting as he spoke. Lani snorted, rolling her eyes playfully at him. “Still,” he said once more becoming distant. “The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” He trailed off wistfully looking once more up at the tall mountains. They were quiet for a moment as they stood side by side. “I will stay then,” Solas said firmly as if just now making up is mind. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“Was that in doubt?” Lavellan asked honestly a little surprised, a small frown pulling at her features. He turned her, tone frank.

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces. And unlike you,” he said pointedly, glancing at her glowing hand, “I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating. But you understand my caution.” 

_Creators, do I ever,_ she thought darkly. It would be so easy for the forces gathered to turn against them and there was little enough they could do about it. Lavellan as constantly aware of just how out matched she would be if Cassandra and her ilk decided to throw her into a Chantry Circle or worse, make her Tranquil. She was an apostate after all. It was unlikely anyone would aid her if that came to pass. The thought made her blood run cold. She rolled her shoulders trying to break up the uneasy tension that had begun to form there.

“You came here to help, Solas,” she said sternly, meeting his grave squarely. “I won’t let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them?” he asked, tone hollow and defeated, eyes sad and down cast. 

“How ever I had to,” was the blunt reply. She meant it. It somewhat surprised her how much she meant it, but she did. The words falling from her lips heavy with the promise. No one, not him, not anyone, would have what they are, what they believed, or where they were from used against them simply because it could be. Because they were different. Especially, when they had so willingly volunteered their help, as Solas had. _Not if I can stop it anyway,_ she thought.

Solas heard the power in those five words. It startled him. The force of them confused him, surprised him even, but the weight of them was a comfort. He looked up at her, studying her features and the darkness contained beneath. Perhaps he had struck a nerve of some kind. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, his own words heavy, mirroring in gratitude what she had shown in conviction. 

“The giant hole in the sky trumps all other concerns,” she said, her tone shifting, forced back to something more business like. “We can worry about the rest later.”

“Yes,” he agreed bowing his head to her. “Who can say what this world will look like when we are done fighting for it.” There was a pause as they watched the ravens soar out of the Chantry belfry. Leliana’s letters clutched tightly in their claws. “But now let us hope that either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.” 

 

The two elves bowed their goodbyes and went their separate ways: Solas disappearing inside his hut to continue his research; Lani moving off to explore other areas of Haven now that she was free to do so. As she made her way toward the stairs to the village’s lower levels, Varric caught her eye, waving her over to a rather robust fire and offering her a mug of something warm and definitely alcoholic. She turned down the drink but sat beside him and his fire to warm her hands.

“So,” the dwarf began as he settled himself on a stool near her, giving her a sidelong appraising look “now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright?” She said nothing, staring blankly into the flames. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.” He gave her an encouraging smile.

“I have no idea whats happening anymore,” she said slowly, sighing and shaking her bowed head. 

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled grimly taking another swill from his mug. “I still can’t believe you survived Cassandra. You’re lucky you were out cold for most of her frothing rage.”

“You mean she gets scarier than that?” the elf snorted sarcastically, peering sideways at the dwarf.

“Oh does she ever.” Varric sighed, looking skyward. “For days now we’ve been staring at the Breach watching demons and Maker-knows-what falling out of it. ‘Bad for moral’ would be an understatement.” His next words were hushed, awed. “I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.” 

“Me neither.” She shook her head, clearing it. “If it was that bad,” Lani asked, brow raised, “why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.” 

“I like to believe I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy.” His voice jingled with forced merriment, before he sighed, round face grim as he studied the green light rippling across the heavens. “But this? Thousands of people _died_ on that mountain. _I_ was almost one of them. And now there’s a hole in the sky. Even I can’t walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.” It was a fair point. In fact, it was almost exactly the same reasoning that had led the elf herself to stay. Granted, her decision had had other factors at play. But still. This mess seemed an ‘all hands on deck’ sort of disaster. 

“I’m still not sure I believe any of this is really happening.” Lavellan hadn’t said the words out loud before, but some part of her believed- or wanted to believe- she had simply fallen prey to some insanely clever demon. Soon it would show itself so she could oust it and she’d wake up safe and happy surrounded by her clan. But the longer she stared at the Breach the harder it became to hang onto that hope. 

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up,” Varric said, “I hope there’s a damn good punchline coming.” He looked at her steadily. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity, Vixen. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going.” He gave her a pointed looked. “Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky?” Varric waved a hand at the Breach absently. “That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.” 

Varric’s words lingered in Lavellan’s mind as she walked out the main gates of Haven. She figured, she should probably get to know her new companions a bit better if she was going to be spending so much time with them. She already had two down anyway, why not see what the Seeker was up to. 

_Being scary apparently,_ thought Lani as she spied Cassandra wailing on a straw and burlap practice dummy out by the training soldiers. The warrior made a disgusted noise as Lani approached though whether it was aimed at the elf or the target, who had just lost an arm, was unclear. 

“I hope that wasn’t meant to be me,” the elf said lightly drawing near though hopefully out of sword range.

“What, that?” Cassandra spat disgruntled, sword tip pointing to the severed arm and the straw spilling forth from it like gore. Lavellan’s eyebrows rose. 

“You obviously don’t like _somebody_ .” There was a somewhat awkward moment of silence as Cassandra stared down the dummy with a glare so potent, the elf was impressed it didn’t simply burst into flame. “I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff,” she offered.

“That would be nice,” the Seeker agreed dryly.

“Like maybe, iron.” The elf thought she saw the barest faction of a smirk cross the warrior’s expression. 

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra asked to the air. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they may write about me as a traitor, a mad woman, a fool. And they may be right.” Ah so the Seeker’s rage was internal as opposed to directed at any one person in particular. That was of some comfort to the elven apostate. Though, having seen Cassandra in action, at least the death blow would be quick if it ever came. 

“What does your faith tell you?” Lani asked gently, head titling to one side as she studied the Seeker. If she had learned anything of the woman, besides her wrath and her skill with a blade, it was that the woman was devout on a level few could match, but in a quiet way. She held that faith close to her heart and it flowed with in her like a slow steadily moving stream. 

“I believe you are innocent,” the woman said pointedly glancing at the elf. Lani dipped her head to the Seeker in acknowledgement and thanks. She had said as much before at the Chantry, to Chancellor Roderick no less. “I believe more is going on here than we can see.” A swing of her blade punctuated every sentence. “And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.” 

“That seems a rather apt description,” Lani agreed with a frustrated huff of breath. 

“But is this the Maker’s will?” the Seeker said, blade stilling. “I can only guess.”

“You don’t think I’m the Herald of Andraste?” Lani asked somewhat curious but also a touched relieved.

“I think you were sent to help us.” The Seeker said. “I hope you were,” she added firmly. “But the Maker’s help takes many forms. Sometimes it is difficult to discern who it truly benefits or how.”

“Fair enough. It seems gods rarely want to be straight forward with their answers,” Lani agreed. “So what’s going to happen now?”

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm,” Cassandra said taking another frustrated swing at her target. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can. After that we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them.” Lani almost felt sorry for whoever had caused this mess. She had had the Seeker’s ire directed at her for a short time and it was not a pleasant experience. And that had been nothing compared to the rage Lani now felt rolling off the warrior. “And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.

“You didn’t have any choice,” Lani said thoughtfully. 

“Didn’t I?” asked the Seeker, taking another swing at the practice dummy before turning to to the elf, lowering her sword. “My trainers always said ‘Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.’” She gestured angrily as she spoke. “I see what must be done and I do it. I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.” Her voice softened as she met Lani’s eyes fully. “But I miss judged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I can not afford to be so careless again.” 

“It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me,” the elf pointed out. “Still I can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that.” That brought a small smile to the Cassandra lips as she nodded. In her position, Lani could not say she would have thought or acted any differently than the Seeker. With what knowledge they had at the time, she was the perfect suspect. If not for Solas’s assurance that she could not have created the explosion and the voices at the temple revealing she had tried to help, Lavellan was quite certain she would be dead now. As much as she hated the thought, she could not blame the people for coming to that conclusion. 

“I can be harsh,” the Seeker allowed, drawing the elf back into their conversation even as she lined up on the dummy, sword ready once more. “I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone.” The warrior stared at the dummy, looking through it rather than focusing on it. Turning to Lani briefly, she asked, “I’m curious, do you even believe in the Maker?”

“I can’t really say,” the elf answered truthfully. “I am dalish. My clan believes in our own gods. But how firmly _I_ hold to those beliefs… Or whether there is space among them for another god… I can’t rightly say. I don’t not believe in the Maker, I just…” She thought for a moment, searching for the right words. “I believe in something greater than myself, a higher power if you will, though I have no name for it.”

“It… is a fair answer and I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simple remains to see where it leads us. Go. Rest.” The Seeker said. “Tomorrow, you will meet the others who will aid us in this chaos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'lenen = children


	7. A Gathering of Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That first advisor meeting in the war room

“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked noticing how Lani flexed the fingered of her left hand and motioned to it. They were heading for the war council room at the back of the Chantry, the room they had had the stand off with Roderick in the previous day, and the Herald’s first meeting with the advisors of their brand new Inquisition. The building was quiet as they walked. Their every step echoing off the stone floors and high ceilings. Only a few were gathered in the dim alcoves or praying in the light of the candles. No one disturbed them as the women passed.

“I just wish I knew what it was,” the elf said frustratedly, fingers curling into a fist. The mark burned and itched. Tingling like a limb that had fallen too far asleep and was slow to awaken. Just when she’d start to become used to it, it would flare or shift causing discomfort at best and shooting pain at worse. “And how I got it.”

“We will find out,” the Seeker assured her. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable. As is the Breach.” Lani nodded, jaw set. “You’ve given us time and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed provided the mark has more power,” the Seeker continued. “The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.” Head rocking back, the elf let out two derisive notes of laughter.

“What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand,” she said sarcastically. 

“Hold on to _that_ sense of humor,” the Seeker smirked in agreement as they passed through the door and into large space that held the impressive war table. The elven mage studied the people already gathered, giving them a polite nod as she crossed the room. “May I present, Commander Cullen, Leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra said gesturing widely to the tall man Lani had seen nailing the notice to the Chantry door earlier. He was a handsome man, aged in the way men who have seen horrible things are, but still young. In his early or mid thirties maybe. His weathered hands rested lightly over the hilt of his broad sword. A gesture of habit and casual comfort rather than anything threatening. The Commander gave the dalish elf a polite professional smile. The corner of his upper lip pulled up slightly where it had been scarred long ago.

“Such as they are,” the blonde said dryly. “We lost many soldiers in the valley and I fear many more before this is through.” Cassandra nodded and turned to the next figure; an elegantly garbed, deeply tan woman with rich dark hair and an inviting air.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

“Andaran atish’an,” the woman said, curtsying lightly. A few drops of wax fell from the candle perched precariously on her hand held writing board. 

“You speak elvhen?” asked Lavellan surprised, a intrigued smile touching her eyes. 

“You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid,” the antivan woman smiled apologetically. Lani dipped her head to her in quiet understanding. It would have been impressive if the Ambassador knew elvhen though not at all surprising that she did not. Still the kind gesture offered by greeting Lani in her people’s tongue was not lost on the elf. As first impressions go, it was a good one. If she was able to make such impressions on most people, she would prove to be a valuable ambassador indeed.

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana,” said Cassandra gesturing to the rogue.

“My position here involves a degree of…” 

“She is our spymaster,” the warrior said cutting her off.

“Yes,” the rogue said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, narrowing them at the other woman. “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

“That’s an impressive bunch of titles,” Lani said feeling just a touch out of place, but none the less more hopeful about this whole endeavor.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” said Cassandra to Lavellan. 

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana said firmly.

“And I still disagree,” said Cullen. “The templars could serve just as well.” _Ah so straight to business it is then,_ thought Lani. _Just as well._

“We need power, Commander,” Cassandra sighed, as if they had already had this talk several times and it was getting no where. For all the elf knew, they had. “Enough magic poured into that mark…”

“Might destroy us all,” he said forcefully, his armored arm moving in a wide sweeping motion. Lani listened to each of them in turn, watching the exchange with her arms folded loosely over her chest. “Templars could suppress the Breach. Weaken so…”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana said shaking her head dismissively.

“ _I was a templar,_ ” he all but snarled though there was little heat in it. “I know what they’re capable of.” 

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” cut in the Ambassador, jotting down a few notes on her writing board. The long fluffy tail of her quill feather danced about as she wrote. “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition. And you specifically,” she said turning to Lani, motioning to her with the aforementioned quill.

“That didn’t take long,” said the elf through pursed lips, utterly unsurprised. 

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” Cullen questioned unimpressed. 

“Some are calling _you_ \- a dalish elf- the Herald of Andraste,” the Ambassador said to Lavellan, giving the Commander a sidelong glance but otherwise ignoring him. “That frightens the Chantry.” _It probably should,_ thought the elf. Not that she would intentionally offer the Chantry any harm, but a great deal of harm could be done to them and their reputation if a dalish elf, a feral savage of the woods, was accepted as the Herald of their _prophet._ After all, the Chantry had spent a great deal of time and energy over the last few centuries vilifying the dalish and elves in general. To have one suddenly be a of such importance at a time of great strife within the Chantry should set them on edge. “The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy and we heretics for harboring you.” 

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” growled Cassandra. 

“It limits our options,” Josephine continued as though the other woman had not spoken. “Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.” 

“Just how am _I_ the Herald of Andraste?” Lani asked, giving voice to her confusion. She had heard that title in whispers and hushed conversation. Been greeted by it more than a few times now. Yet for the life of her, the elven mage could not figure out how such a title could possibly apply.

“People saw what you did at the temple,” the Seeker explained. “How you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.” Lani’s mouth opened. And closed. And opened again. Unable to voice her thoughts, she simply nodded her head. While she did not believe it for a instant, it made sense why folks would make that connection, why they would want to believe it. Especially, with would happened at the Divine’s Conclave. 

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading…” began Leliana.

“Which we have not,” Cassandra said bluntly. The rogue gave Cassandra a pointed glared before returning her attention to Lavellan.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“That's quite the title, isn’t it?” rumbled Cullen, mildly amused. “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure how I should feel,” Lani answered truthfully, still somewhat dumbstruck.

“The Chantry has decided that for you, it seems,” he smiled in an empathic if not all together encouraging way.

“There is that,” she sighed wryly, rubbing at her eyes with the marked hand before glaring at it and letting the limb fall to her side. 

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana said reverently. “For some, you’re that sign.” Lani wanted to say that if _she_ was their sign of hope, their _Herald,_ then the world was in much more dire straights than they originally thought. But that seemed a less than charitable sort of response so she remained quiet. 

“And to others a symbol of everything that has gone wrong,” Josephine countered. It was all so unnecessarily complicated thought the marked elf. Provided, Lani wasn’t the most educated on Chantry workings, but surely there were things of more import to be done then their current hissy fit. Even within the Chantry, didn’t they have more important things to attend to like the mage rebellion and subsequent war. Or picking a new Divine. Among other things…

"They aren’t more concerned about the Breach?” She asked, not quite able to keep the irritated contempt from her words. “The real threat?”

“They do know it’s a threat. They just don’t think we can stop it,” Cullen said though he seemed to agree with her frustration. 

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” the ambassador sighed. 

“There _is_ something you can do,” Leliana offered. “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She’s not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.” 

“Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?” Lani asked raising one heavily tattooed brow. 

“I understand she’s reasonable sort,” Leliana said with a shrug. “Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters. Either way, you’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.” Lani nodded thoughtfully. It was worth a shot at least. 

"Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisitions influence while you’re there,” Cullen suggested. 

“We need agents to expand our reach beyond this valley,” Josephine agreed. “And you, Lavellan, are better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“Because of what I did at the Temple and because of this ‘Herald’ business, I take it,” Lani said with a theatric wave of her glowing hand. “It’s certainly not the ears that make me so approachable.” The elf favored the Ambassador with a knowing looking, a smirk pulling hard at the corner of her mouth. Josephine dipped her head in acknowledgement as if to say ‘just so,’ returning the smile. 

“In the meantime, lets think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.” Lani smiled gratefully at the Seeker. It seemed a great deal was being put on her shoulders all of a sudden. She was unnerved to say the least. But if these were to be the people guiding her, maybe, just maybe, they would all make it out of this alive.


	8. Keeper's First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Clan Lavellan helps the Spymaster and Seeker to understand the dalish woman so much now rests upon. And a returned trinket becomes the center of debate and understanding.

“Herald, if you have a moment?” Leliana called as the Ambassador and Commander filed out to see to their various tasks. 

Cassandra moved about the room replacing books and staking papers, generally returning the space to some sense of order. Whether this was out of habit or because she was stalling, the elven woman could not be sure.

It was barely after midday but Lavellan as exhausted. Everything was changing. Quickly. And somehow she had been swept up in it all. She felt little more than a cottonwood seed caught in a gale force wind. A tiny fish fighting a terrifying maelstrom. In the end, she supposed she was. 

“What can I do for you?” she said with all the polite respect she could muster, rubbing at her temples to dispel the migraine building between them. 

“We received this letter from your clan,” the spymaster said pulling a rough but delicately rolled slip of parchment from her sleeve. “We’d like your advise on how best to handle it.”

“My clan?” Lani asked taking the letter, interest piqued. 

Leliana nodded, Cassandra coming to stand beside the spymaster, joining them. The Clan Lavellan First hooked her finger under the course grass weave cord and pulled. The parchment unspooled gently in her grasp. She recognized the flowing elegant script upon it immediately. Her thumb ran lightly over the lines as if to reach out, to sense, to touch the hand that had written them. She smiled, a small bittersweet thing as she read.

 

_-Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and wish nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with all and wishes only for peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us only as potential victims._

_It has come to our attention that a member of our clan is being held captive by your Inquisition. She went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that she intentionally violated your customs. If she has been charged with a crime, we would appreciate hearing of it. If not, it would ease our concerns to hear from her to know that she remains with the Inquisition of her own will._

_We await your reply,_  
_Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan-_

 

_Oh Keeper,_ thought Lani fondly and little sadly, _how scared you must have been when Ellana came to you. I am so sorry._

“Lavellan?” said Leliana carefully. “How should we respond? The dalish respect acts more than words, this much I know.” Lani nodded slowly thinking. “We do not wish our actions to cause more strife for your people.”

“I appreciate your concern in that matter, Leliana. Thank you for consulting me.” So few humans would take the time or care to handle this as it should be. It would be easy enough to brush aside. What could her clan do from so far away? That they had chosen instead to handle it with grace and delicacy spoke volumes to Lani. “I’ll write a letter to my clan immediately. Update them on my standing here as well as the challenges the Inquisition now faces,” One of Cassandra’s brows rose, skeptical and questioning.

“Is that wise…”

“I am First of my clan,” Lani explained, “meaning that I was second in charge, in training to be the next Keeper, the next leader. Responsible for taking over the care and needs of my people when our current Keeper stepped down.” The branches of Mythal bunched as the elf’s expression became pained. “Deshanna is not the young dove she once was,” she said sadly. “My clan has the right to know I may be away for a great deal of time. That I….” She paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself and find the right words. “That there is a possibility they may need to plan a future without me due to the Inquisitions needs and the risks we face. If it is all the same to you, I would prefer to keep them as well informed as possible.”

“I…see,” said Leliana as if seeing the elf in true for the first time. “Forgive me. I did not realize you were of such importance to your clan.” She paused as if considering something then spoke, “our supplies are limited but with work trade will grow. We could spare a little to send to your clan if it will ease their strain. Show them we mean no ill will.” 

Cassandra stared hard at the rogue. To say their supplies were limited was a vast understatement and she meant to say so until she saw how the furrow in Lani’s brow lessened, her eyes widening- the worry and fear beneath showing clearly for the first time since Cassandra had met her. The Seeker stilled.

“That would… I mean… Thank you,” Lavellan breathed in gratitude. “Yes, if you could that would ease my worry and their strain quite a bit. They would be… _I_ would be… immensely grateful.”

“Consider it done,” Leliana smiled, warm and reassuring. “When you are ready, I shall send your letter and the supplies with some of my fastest agents. Hopefully, a show of good faith will put your clan at ease.” The spymaster rested a comforting hand on the elf’s shoulder. A smile tugged at Lani’s lips as she bowed her head to the rogue. Leliana returned the gesture and left, leaving Lani alone with Cassandra in the dim main hall of the Chantry.

They were silent as they walked side by side toward the door and the bright day that lay beyond. The Seeker was clearly pondering something, lost in her own thoughts and the elf had no interest in disturbing her. But as Lavellan passed through the Chantry door, held open for them by a kindly robed Sister, and made to head for the tavern, the warrior caught her by the arm, bring her up short. Lani turned to the warrior, her head tilted to the side, forehead wrinkled in question. Cassandra hesitated as if unsure how to put to words what she was thinking. Lani waited. Whatever was on the woman’s mind must be of importance. 

The Seeker gave up on words. Instead, withdrawing something from the small pouch she wore at one hip and held it out to Lani. The elf gasped, reaching for the item. She held it in one hand as one might an injured butterfly.

“I…I thought this was lost to me,” Lani breathed, eyes shining. 

A pearlescent white abalone shell the size of a large walnut lay in her palm, a smooth silver chain spilling between her fingers. The shell was trimmed in a narrow band of silver that followed along its curve and embellished its delicate spiral. Hanging beside the shell was a small oval moon stone. Lavellan's thumb ran over the miniature wolf paw engraved neatly on its flattened back, white inlay barely visible against the opalescent surface. 

“Where ever did you find it?” asked Lani unable to believe it was real and unharmed. 

“We found it on you after the you fell from the Fade,” Cassandra said. Lani’s head wiped up to look at her and were Cassandra a lesser person the force of the elven woman’s stare may have sent her back a pace or two. 

“You took it from me,” Lani hissed, eyes burning, suddenly furious. Color rose in Cassandra’s cheeks but whether from embarrassment or her own anger was hard to tell. 

“Yes,” she stated firmly. “You were an apostate, found at the sight on a massive magical explosion that killed thousands of people.” Cassandra matched the level of Lani’s glare. “And you were suspected of being the perpetrator. As such we stripe you of anything that might be magical or a weapon until they could be studied and their safety guaranteed.”

“So you kept this from me but returned my staff? My pack?” The elf snarled, hand closing in a fist around the necklace. 

“We weren’t entirely sure of its purpose,” Cassandra replied. “What it was capable of.” The mage let out a harsh high laugh.

“What it is capable of?” she sneered, fire dancing in her eyes. “What _glowing_ you to death?” Cassandra lips pulled back baring her clenched teeth.

“We couldn’t know…”

“You could have asked!” the elf shouted. “I’ve been right here, Cassandra. You could have…” she turned away shoulders falling as her rage died in the cold mountain air. “You could simply have asked,” she whispered. The elf shook her head, forcing herself to relax and turned back to the Seeker. “Ir abelas, Cassandra. I am sorry,” she sighed. “It has been a very long day. Week even.” Lavellan rubbed at her forehead. 

“For all of us,” Cassandra affirmed still eyeing her hard as if trying to puzzle out the reason for the elf’s rage. 

“Of course you would have taken it. I should be happy that it was only to study and not destroyed immediately as you were well within your right to do. Ma serannas,” the elf said with a deep bow. “Thank you for returning this to me.” Cassandra eyed her warily for a few moments longer then she too relaxed, the warrior giving her a stiff nod. 

“If I may ask now,” she said, “what is it?”

“Harmless,” Lani replied with a smile, as she fasted the chain around her neck. The necklace’s comforting weight once more laying against her chest. “Important to me more for its sentiment than anything else.”

“But the necklace is magical,” the Seeker prompted, “The mages here said as much.” 

“Yes it is,” agreed Lani. “Part of it at least.” Her fingers closed around the pendants willing a slow steady flow of power into the moon stone. She turned once more to the path toward the Tavern, spying Solas and Varric ahead of them and looking the women’s direction. How long they had been there, the dalish elf was unsure. Varric waved, motioning to the Tavern door beside him and giving the women a hopeful thumbs up. Lani nodded but gestured for them to wait. “Come,” she said to Cassandra. “Let me buy you lunch as an apology for my outburst and I’ll tell you all about it.” The Seeker studied her for a moment then nodded. The women made their silent way toward the Tavern and the two men who stood waiting for them just outside. 

“What was that all about?” Varric asked as they neared. Cassandra made to answer him but Lani cut her off. 

“Me letting my hot head get the better of me,” the elven woman said giving Cassandra a small apologetic smile. Cassandra tipped her head a faction in acknowledgement. 

“…All right then…” Varric said glancing between them before he turned and led the little group through the door. The tavern was loud and cramped though not as badly as it had likely been an hour or so ago. Most of the patrons were finishing their meals rather than starting them and so it was likely to clear out in the near future. “Chuckles,” he said over his shoulder, “remind me to avoid getting on Vixen’s bad side.”

“And not Cassandra’s?” Solas mused.

“That ship has sailed,” the dwarf said with a broad sweep of his hand. He stopped in his tracks as if considering something. “You know, I don’t think it ever made port to begin with.” 

“Careful, dwarf,” Cassandra warned.

Varric chuckled but made no other reply, shouting instead to the barman. He held up four fingers, as he moved for a quieter table in the corner to wait for their meal. By then, the stone on Lani’s necklace was glowing a warm amethyst color between her fingers. Cassandra eyed it, partially in suspicion but mostly in curiosity. 

“It glows violet now,” she said a note of surprise in her voice. “While it was in our care it was glowing peach. Rather violently peach at times.” Lani huffed out a little laugh.

“Violently peach?” Lani arched one eyebrow savoring the description before saying, “I’ll have to tell Ellana that. Though I imagine it would.” Cassandra gave her a questioning look, as did Solas from across the table. “It is a twin stone.” Solas made an ‘ah’ sound nodding in understanding though Varric and Cassandra simply looked at her as if it answered nothing. 

“One stone, imbued with the same magic, split into two halves,” offered Solas miming the words as he spoke them. “The two pieces remain connected. If a mage energizes one stone it illuminates causing its twin doing so as well.”

“No matter the distance,” Lani said to herself with a warm smile. 

“I assume then, someone you know holds the other half,” he said to Lani. “Someone you care deeply for or who cares for you.” She nodded. _A lover perhaps,_ he thought. He would admit that he found the woman mildly intriguing but…

"My sister,” the elven woman said toying with the stone. “Adoptive sister anyway.”

“Care to explain to the kids not playing on team mage?” asked Varric pointedly.

“My sister and I both have skill with magic,” the dalish woman said. “When we were younger we trained together using stones like this.” She held out the glowing pebble for inspection. “Now, we each bare one half of this particular one on a chain around our necks. Our clan’s needs often separate us,” she gestured around them by way of example, “so when we are thinking of one another- missing our sister, concerned for them, or whatever- we channel a bit of power to our respective halves to let the other know. We can’t really communicate with them per say. They are magical, yes, but little more than a child’s toy. Mostly they glow. That's about it.” 

“Mostly?” asked Cassandra brow raising. Lavellan was not overly surprised the Seeker had picked up on the word. 

“Remember how ‘angrily’ it glowed while in your care?” Lani asked. Cassandra nodded. “Our Keeper put a charm on them many years ago, when we were still young and such spells beyond us, to help Ellana sleep while I was away. Hunting. Trading. Spying on human politics,” she smiled ruefully at the Seeker. “If anything ever happened to me and the stone was taken without my consent, she would know immediately. And vice versa.” She eyes dimmed as she added, “And if I died… It would tell her. But only if it was on me at the time.” She staring absently into her tankard for a moment. 

“Then she knew when we took it from you,” Cassandra said thoughtfully, her forehead creasing as understanding dawned. “Knew something had happened to you but did not know what or how severe.” Lani nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. 

“She was trying to get me to respond.” The elf took a swig from her mug, studying it’s contains as she swallowed and continued. “The peach illumination no doubt growing brighter as she poured more and more power into her stone in the increasing frantic hope I would answer. Something happening to me without her knowledge… one of her greatest fears. Has been ever since… well that’s a story for a different time.” She took another drink.

“Your sister, Ellana, feared you dead then,” Solas said quietly, features a politely reserved mask as he studied her, though there was sorrow in his eyes. “That is why it angered you so that it was kept from you. It had instilled unnecessary fear in your loved ones. Fear that grew the longer the stone was kept from you. It is not a magical power the necklace wields but rather that of sentiment.” Lani looked up, giving him the briefest of smiles and took a deep breath, forcing her voice to be lighter than she felt. 

“Likely why you got such a prompt letter from Clan Lavellan inquiring as to my status,” she said. “Ellana likely went to the Keeper within moments of you taking my pendant and my lack of response.”

“That would explain quite a bit actually,” Cassandra said nodding as she considered recent events. The Seeker met the Herald’s eyes, her words ernest. “When you write your letter to Clan Lavellan, please express my deepest apologizes to your sister.”

“I will, Seeker.” Lani smiled with a dip her head. “I will also tell her that you were simply doing your job. She will not begrudge you that. In fact, she will likely take comfort that someone so thorough in her duties is now one of my companions, advisors and protectors.” The stone around Lani’s neck was now glowing a brilliant warm coral color, lightly warm to the touch. She smiled. “At the very least, she knows that I am alright now. It will suffice until my letter arrives.”

“And what of the shell, Vixen?” asked Varric. “What great magical importance does it hold?”

“Absolutely none,” the dalish woman said simply, a roguish smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“Oh come on,” he snorted unconvinced. “After that long winded explanation about a pebble, the shell is just a shell?”

“Sentimental nonsense.” She played with it as she spoke, one finger tracing and retracing the silver detail. “A pretty little bobble.” Despite what her words implied, Solas noted the weight of something much more beneath them. The dwarf must have seen at least part of it too for he raised a knowing eyebrow in her direction. The elven woman smiled: a warm, brilliant thing that held just a touch of mischief. “Another time,” she said lightly and there was a finality to the words. Varric shrugged. 

“Whatever you say, Vixen.” 

There had been something profoundly sad in that smile, though the elven woman had hid it well. Well enough that Solas doubted the others had noticed. Cassandra had perhaps, but the woman was being usually tactful if that were the case. The elvhen man’s head tilted as he considered it. He watched as she lovingly toyed with the pendents, growing increasingly aware of the wolf jaw fragment around his own neck. He had to fight the urge to run his fingers along the bone. _Sentimental nonsense, indeed,_ he thought with a small privately sad smile of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas = I'm sorry  
> Ma serannas = thank you


	9. Shining Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letter from home left Lavellan feeling lost. She gets a pep talk from an unexpected source.

Lavellan had gone back to her quiet hut after lunch to read, pack, and write. They would be leaving for the Hinterlands to meet this ‘Mother Giselle’ soon- likely tomorrow or the day after. It seemed there was a great deal to do and extremely little time to accomplish it in. 

The Inquisition’s advisors had given Lani plenty to study and she was eager to further her understanding of the mysterious magic that had left her marked and at the center of all this. The small writing desk under the even smaller window of her little but comfortable cabin was already heavily laden with books and papers. The elf gently staked them off to one side, clearing a space to work. 

The air was still chilly and drafts seeped in through the loosely boarded walls though furs had been tacked up in several places to lessen the bite. In fact, she could see day light between many of the planks. Still it was warmer inside than out. Lani pulled her rough blanket from the bed, bundling it about herself as she sat down at the desk. She lit the small fireplace with a flick of her wrist and waited as the air gradually began to warm.

Leliana’s agents had been kind enough to lend her all the reports leading up to now and Solas must had dropped off his own research earlier in the day while she was gone. It seemed as good a starting place as any. It amused Lani slightly that by Leliana’s reports if the elf hadn’t fallen out of the Fade at their feet they would never have known she had ever been there. _At least there’s that,_ she thought with a snort. Sadly, there was little in the reports that Lani had not already been told. It seemed everyone was at a loss for information at the moment. 

The Conclave had been going fine, not well but well enough, and they had taken a short recess. In that time, the Divine went missing. But before much alarm could be raised, the Conclave exploded, the Breach ripping the heavens apart. Rifts began to tear their way open everywhere, demons spilling forth. In the heat of the chaos and death, Lavellan had fallen from a rift. Right at their feet. She had been near death and taken immediately to the Chantry’s dudgeons for treatment and observation. Here Leliana’s reports became sparser, focusing more on the conflicts in the mountain pass and attempts to find who Lavellan was and where she had come from, rather than anything pertaining to the Breach or the mark. 

Solas’s research was of more informative. He had apparently arrived not long after the explosion and taken over care of Lani. In the beginning, he did not seem to think she would survive at all. Something about mark’s magic was consuming her or tearing her apart. Something along those lines anyway. The timely apostate had managed to slow its progress by layering several small barriers around the strange magic, containing it to her hand as best he could. 

Solas seemed to think the mark was rather like a key but meant for a specific holder and the dying dalish woman they had found at the Temple was not likely it. It seemed uncertain what the key was to or what it did but he suspected it was somehow connected to the orb-like artifact they had seen in the visions at the Temple of Sacred Ashes when they stopped the Breach’s spread. 

Lavellan set the pages aside, staring fixedly out the window. She had the growing feeling that the Breach may not be the biggest of their problems, though she could pin down why she felt that way exactly. Something told her they hadn’t seen the last of the shadowy figure they had spied in the visions, the one with the deep voice who held the Divine prisoner. Or at least those who no doubt served him. 

“That thought is going to do wonders for my sleep cycle,” she muttered to herself, as she set the reports aside. 

Lani pulled a blank sheet of parchment from a stack and laid it out before her. She smoothed it several times before she settled and reached for the small glass bottle of ink and well worn quill Josephine had given to her. Absently, she dipped the quill in the ink as she stared at the page. The right words to say to her Keeper, her clan, would not come, try as she might to find them. She started and stopped several times. How could she explain all that had happen? How could she ease their minds about the tear in the sky? Should she even try? The whole world was in peril and the humans did like but bicker. If the Inquisition failed…If she failed… 

Lavellan let out a snarl of frustration. Of hopelessness. The paper before her ignited in amethyst flame, curling even as she watched through blurred vision. She could not do this now. Her people needed her to be calm, to explain the happenings here, and reassure them she was okay, that she would do her best to put it right. Except she wasn’t okay. She was anything _but_ okay. 

The elf rose, wooden chair scrapping harshly on the hard packed floor. She tossed her blanket at the bed and stormed from her hut. Lavellan didn’t know where her feet were taking her. Didn’t care. She simply walked. Unable to stand sitting in that hut another minute. 

“You there!” Commander Cullen Rutherford was shouting at a new recruit. “That’s a shield in your hand. Block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.” He glanced up, taking his focus from the training men to see the Herald of Andraste storming through the main gate of Haven. He eyed her progress through the snow before turning to the man beside him. “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. Recruits must prepare for a real fight. Not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander,” the Lieutenant replied as Cullen left, angling to intercept the clearly upset elf.

Lani sat on the end of the useless dock not far from the training fields. Her feet swayed in the air high above the frozen lake. Elbows braced against her knees. Face buried in her hands. Cullen knew that look all too well. It was the posture of a soul with too much weight on their shoulders. A leader lost and overwhelmed. He knew how that felt. 

“We’ve received a number of recruits- Locals from Haven and some pilgrims,” he said coming to sit beside the elf, breaking the silence with neutral but positive business talk. “None made quite the entrance you did,” he added with a little smirk. 

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” Lani said, voice muffled by her palms. If she minded his intrusion, she did not show it. She looked up, hands dragging slowly across her skin as she let out a rumbling groan. Her eyes came to focus on the green sky over the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “I just hope I can help.”

“As do we all,” he breathed following her gaze briefly. “It is enough that you would try.” He favored her with a strain but reassuring smile. “It is all we can ask of anyone.” The elf sighed, nodding.

“I’m glad you see it that way, at least,” she sighed before changing the subject, arms resting loosely over her thighs as she looked up at him. “So Commander, how did you end up here?” The elf asked.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself,” he said. 

“Kirkwall? Huh. Haven’t been there in years.” She studied him appraisingly. “Didn’t pick you for a Marcher though.”

“I’m not,” he chuckled. “Fereldan. Served at the Circle tower on Lake Calanhad before being sent to Kirkwall.” His face darken as if a cloud had passed over head. “I was there, in Kirkwall, during the mage upraising. I saw first hand the devastation it caused…” Whatever he had seen there had certainly left a mark on the man for in that moment he looked a decade older than his years.

“I’m glad I missed it then,” Lavellan said lightly, favoring him with what she hoped was a warm sympathetic smile though it seemed to have little effect.

“Sir” said an agent as he approached, stirring the Commander from his thoughts. The messenger bowed low to Lani as he handed Cullen a message.

“Cassandra sought a solution,” the large man said. “When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause…” He trailed off studying the letter before passing it back to the man with a nod of thanks. “Now it seems we face something far worse.”

“The Conclave destroyed. A giant hole in the sky. Things aren’t looking good,” agreed the elf.

“Which is why we’re needed,” he said firmly.   

“You left the templars for this,” Lani said intrigued. “You believe the Inquisition can work.” It wasn’t a question. The conviction in the man’s words was clear.

“I do,” he said sincerely. “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act where the Chantry can not. And our followers will be part of that. There’ so much we can…,” he said fervently before catching himself. “Forgive me,” he sighed shaking his head. “I doubt you came out here for a lecture.” The dalish woman chuckled but raised a staying hand.

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said gently. “You understand our situation. And I appreciate your opinion. If anything it helps this all seem a less hopeless.”

“Look around,” Cullen said, the both of them turning where they sat to survey Haven. Lani watched the people milling about the small village. Soldiers training, Cassandra among them. Traders. Smiths. Varric sharing stories by his preferred fire. Villagers trading idle gossip with their neighbors.“Our people are well organized and committed. Despite what the clerics think, we are in the best position to help.” He looked down at Lavellan and she met his eyes. They were a deep grey. Youthfully bright ideology mixing with the heavy lines of experience. A good combination for a leader, thought the elf. “I know what happens when order is lost and action comes too late.” 

“Kirkwall,” she sighed understanding. He nodded. 

“And… else where.” 

“Cullen? Why did you join the Order?” She asked thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the frozen water below them. He glanced at her, head titled slightly. “I know relatively little about templars having avoided humans in general most my life. Templars in particular,” she said, conjuring and smothering a small violet flame in her upturned palm by way of a point. “But I am curious. I’m sure you aren’t the bogey men so many of us apostates are raised to believe. Not all of you at least.” 

“Ah,” he said smiling sadly. “I suppose I could see how many might feel that way. Especially now.” He sighed, eyes lost somewhere in the distance for a time. “To be honest, I could think of no better calling to protect those in need.” He voice rumbled slightly, a chuckle hidden just beneath the surface as he reminisced. “I used to beg the templars at out local Chantry to teach me. At first, they merely humored me.” He shook his head lightly. “But I must have shown promise or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training.” Cullen breathed a bittersweet sigh. “I was thirteen when I left home.” 

“Thirteen? Still so young,” eyebrows raising slightly as Lavellan looked at him compassionately. 

“I wasn’t the youngest there,” he shrugged. “Some children were promised to the Order at infancy. Still I didn’t take on full responsibilities until I was eighteen. The order sees you trained and educated first.”

“Not a bad set up, I suppose,” she conceded. “What about your family? Did you miss them?”

“Of course!” the Commander said. “But there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another.” Lani smiled and Cullen couldn’t help but notice the sadness in it.

“Do you still? Miss them, I mean?” Cullen bobbed his head knowingly. 

“I write. Though not as much as my sister would like.” He studied the elven woman as she gazed into the distance. “That’s why you’re out here isn’t it? I take it, Leliana gave you the letter your clan sent us.” The elf nodded. It was true, though she missed far more than just her clan. 

“I don’t know what to tell them," she said quietly, fingers twisting together in her lap. “They want to hear that I am safe. That this will all be over soon. Or maybe that’s just what I want to be able to say.” 

“And you can’t.” She nodded again, forehead propped in one hand. “I don’t know if my council is the best in this situation. Like I said, I’m pretty poor at writing letters home myself.” He sighed rubbing at his neck.“Still, if it were me, I would tell them truth. All of it.” They stared up at the torn sky together. “I fear this will effect all of Thedas before it is over. Your clan has a right to know as much as we do. Especially, since they’ve lent you to us.” 

“Lent?” the elf snorted, peering at him with one highly arched brow.

“It is perhaps a bit more _polite_ phrasing, I’ll grant you,” he chuckled. Lani understood by what some people mean by ‘a dashing scar’ looking at the Commander smile. The scar on his upper lip did lend quite a bit of charm to his smirk. 

“I hope Leliana’s ravens have strong wings,” the First of Clan Lavellan said wearily. “This is going to be a long letter.” He continued to chuckle.

“I've seen those birds do some incredibly things, Herald. I’m sure they’ll manage.” 

They sat quietly on the dock watching the whirling flakes of snow fall. 

“There is hope, Lavellan. It may not seem like it but you must have faith. In your own gods if not the Maker,” Cullen said. “Admittedly, there is still a lot of work here. But there is hope. Hold on to it. And that sense of humor of yours. We’ll need it.” Lani smiled at him and he was pleased to see her expression was warmer than when he had first joined her.

“Commander,” and agent said hurrying over to them. “Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.” 

“As I was saying…” The tall blond trailed off with a cocky half smirk, chin tucked mischievously into his thick collar as he turned away and made to raise. The dalish elf chuckled to herself as the Commander walked away. He was a good man with a good heart and he had never so much as batted an eye at her being an elf. 

Lani sat for a short time longer on the dock, planning out the letter she was soon to write. In the distance, the sun was beginning to set. Maybe she would get dinner to go and eat while she wrote. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs as full as she could with the cool mountain air before sighing and rising. Snow had pilled on the edges of her boots and shoulders and she brushed it off as she walked. 

Cullen glanced up from his reports giving the elf a small smile and a nod. She waved a hand in thanks and slipped into Haven proper. _Herald of Andraste, eh?_ she thought to herself. _Look at me, papa. I’m all grown up._


	10. Cross Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lani meets Mother Giselle and forms a plan to take on the Chantry

“The Herald of Andraste!” The armored dwarven scout started as Lani and her companions entered the make-shift camp near the Hinterland cross roads. The short woman had been perch on a ledge observing the chaos in valley below awaiting their arrival. All the same she seemed genuinely surprised to see the elf with her own eyes. “I’ve heard the stories… Everyone has. We heard what you did at the Breach,” she said breathlessly. She had a lovely voice, bright and musical. “It’s odd for a dalish elf to care what happens to anyone else but you’ll get no back talk here. That’s a promise! Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service,” she said extending a hand.“I- all of us here- will do whatever we can to help.” Lavellan took the offered hand and shook it with a polite nod.

“Harding, huh?” Varric smirked behind the elf. “Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

“I can’t say I have. Why?”

“You’d be Harding in… oh. Never mind,” he chuckled. Cassandra rolled her eyes letting out a disgusted sigh. 

“I’m starting to worry about these stories that everyones heard,” Lani said wryly.

“Oh. There’s nothing to worry about,” said Harding dismissively though mischief tugged around the edges of her features and her eyes sparkled with unvoiced giggles. “They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Oh. Wonderful,” the elf said dryly returning some of the humor. Lani could see herself becoming fast friends with the dwarven woman. That is, assuming they ever had the time and opportunity.

“The Hinterlands are as good a place as any to start fixing things,” said the dwarf becoming all business. “We came to secure horses from Redcliff’s old horse master. I grew up here,” she said shakily, her voice cracking slightly in concern and worry as she gazed about the trees. Fighting could be heard in the distance, swords ringing against swords and people shouting, seemingly coming from all sides. “People alway said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks,” she continued. “But with the mage/templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he is even still alive.” She shook her bowed head for a moment before continuing. “Mother Giselle is at the Cross Roads,” she said gesturing to the valley below, “helping refugees and the wounded. Our latest reports say that the war has spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to protect the people but they won’t be abel to hold out very long.” Lani nodded gravely looking out in the direction the dwarf pointed. 

“I'd best get going then,” the elven woman said straightening her shoulders and adjusting her grip on her staff. “No time to lose.” 

The Hinterlands were lovely, or at least what Lavellan could see of them were. The area was made up of huge rolling hills, nigh on mountains in places, covered in elegant trees and wild grasses. The rock formations were rich in iron and other crafting stones. Water falls large and small, steep and swallow, cascading and dead drops littered the landscape. Their bubbling chorus echoing through the trees. Or would if the sounds of battle didn’t cover them. It would have been idyllic if not for all the blood stained soil and endless conflict. 

They did not get far before the fighting enveloped them. With her keen eyes, Lani saw a rogue templar raising a sword high to bring it down on a cowering man and child. She raced ahead leaving the others in her wake. With a bellow of rage, the dalish elf ripped the staff from her back, pointing it at the would-be murdered and releasing a ball of violet fire that flung him back hard from his intended victims. Spending him heavily to the ground in a charred heap.

“Go!” She shouted at the man as she passed, getting to higher ground for a better field of view. “Get to safety!” The dark-haired man did not need telling twice. He lifted the crying child like a sack of so much grain and ran. _Good,_ thought Lani. She spun on the spot, seeing Cassandra charging down a hostile apostate, smashing the mage to the ground with the broad shield she carried. Blood flew from her sword in a wide scarlet arch. 

Solas took up position next to the boulder on which Lani stood. His head at the level of her calf. He cast a barrier around them both. Just in time too, as arrows came soaring out of the trees to their left, striking harmlessly against it. Solas hissed, slamming his staff to the ground, sending large balls of solid ice hurling at the attackers. Above him, he could hear the elven woman’s snarls and curses. If he did not know better he would have thought he stood beside an enrage wolf. Her spell work was precise, fast, brutal. She held back nothing as wave after wave of templars and mages rose and fell. 

Lani leapt from her ledge, landing in a run as she raced toward the small village Harding had referred to as The Cross Roads. Screams and cries of fear and pain carried to them on the wind. Solas could have sworn he caught a glimpse of eye-shine as she passed the blazing buildings around them. _A trick of the firelight, no doubt,_ he thought, pushing it from his mind. 

Varric lobbed a sack through the air. Hitting its target, it exploded, launching spikes right into the path of oncoming templars. The spikes torn at the feet of those not quick or nimble enough to avoid them, hobbling the men. It bought Cassandra all the time she needed. The Seeker bellowed a curse, sword glinting as she spun, cutting down one man and using her shield to propel herself over the still falling body. The momentum carried her forward, driving the point of her blade through the mail under the next man’s right arm, burying it to the hilt. He let out a bubbling gasp and fell. Blood tickling from his open mouth. Eyes wide with surprise and staring. 

The elves once more took up position beside one another, staffs spinning in time as they cast. Lighting arched between foes with a deathly crackle. Ice erupting from the earth. Encased enemies exploding into so many shards as one of Varric’s _special_ arrows hit home. 

“It would seem these templars have not had to deal with a mage of much talent before,” Solas called. Lani’s only reply was a blast of power so potent and controlled it launch a group of soldiers several yards, setting their leathers a blaze while avoiding their nearby allies entirely.  
“Andraste’s lacy floral panties, Vixen! Remind me never to piss you off,” Varric shouted.

“Thought you already knew that, Varric,” the elven woman called back, her smirk more a seething snarl as she took aim at a new target.  
What remained of the templar and mage forces at the Cross Roads were soon killed or scattered. The Herald of Andraste watched a few of their silhouettes disappearing in to the trees. It did not matter. They would be hunted down soon enough. Even if Lani had to do it herself. She would not abide by this mindless butchering of innocence. 

“The mages and the templars chose a poor location for working out their differences,” Solas said sadly. 

“Such a waste of power.” The elven woman grimaced as she nudged a dead mage with the toe of her boot. “These mages behave as little more than beasts,” she said disgusted. She looked up at the ruined wagons and homes. “On second thought, that’s a great disservice to animals.” 

“You’ll get no disagreement from me there.” Varric said, collapsing Bianca and sliding her back into her holster. “Templars aren’t helping much either.”

“They do not deserve to call themselves Templars,” Cassandra hissed. “They have forgotten their true purpose. Protecting the people. Not slaughtering them.” 

“Come on,” Lavellan said. “Let’s find Mother Giselle and see what we can do to help these poor people.” The group moved through the small town, helping to right carts and clear roads as they did. Solas offered to help the healers for the short time Lani would be talking to the cleric. There were so many wounded that his help was gladly excepted. So many hungry and cold too, though that would have to wait. 

The elven woman shook her head in dismay as she walked up the worn stone steps to the building where the injured were being tended to. Weeds poked out between the cobble stones and the structure’s walls were old and covered in moss and lichen. But just as Harding had said she would be, the elderly cleric was there kneeling over a badly wounded man. 

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” she was saying softly. Dark features gentle with a reassuring smile. “Lay still.”

“Don’t let them touch me, Mother,” the solider said stubbornly even as his voice lilted in pain. “Their magic is…”

“Turned to noble purpose,” the woman said firmly, voice filled with quiet compassion. “Their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.” The man made to protest but the Cleric cut him off with a stern look. “Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.” The soldier leaned back against his cot, giving in with a pained grunt. 

“Mother Giselle?” Lani Lavellan ask tentatively as she approached. 

“I am,” the Cleric said rising and turning to face the elf. “And you must be the one they are calling ‘The Herald of Andraste.’” She emphasized the last four words as if making them a proclamation. 

“Is that why you asked for me?” Lani asked with a weary sigh, not really wanting to hear another lecture on her unworthiness. Chancellor Roderick had that quite covered. “The Chantry has already-”

“I know what they’ve done,” Mother Giselle said quickly, stilling Lani with a raised hand. 

“Then why am I here?” The elf asked confused. 

“I know of the Chantry’s denouncement. And I am familiar with those behind it,” the cleric said knowingly. “I won’t lie to you. Some are grand standing hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified.” She let out a heavy breath, shaking her head in disbelieving sorrow. “So many good people senselessly taken from us.”

“It was horrible,” Lani agreed sadly. One arm folded over her chest, her chin resting lightly on the fingers of the other as she stood beside the Chantry Mother. They gazed up at the broken sky together. “There is no justification good enough for what happened at the Conclave. I only hope we can end this before more people are killed.”

“Fear makes us desperate, but hopefully not beyond reason,” the cleric said turing to the elf. “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics you are no demon to be feared. They’ve heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.” 

“You want me to appeal to them?” She studied the Mother’s face thoughtfully.

“If I thought you were incapable, I won’t suggest it,” Mother Giselle said lightly, her clasps within her bellowing sleeves. A warm intelligent smile graced her lips as her eyes sparkling. 

“Will they even listen?” Lani asked skeptically. “To me?”

“Let me put it this way,” Mother Giselle said, “you needn’t _convince_ them. You just need some of them to _doubt._ ” The elf nodded slowly, the knuckles of one hand bouncing lightly off her pursed lips as she pondered what the woman was saying. Lavellan thought she could see what the old Mother was hinting at. It may work. At least in part. “Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you’ll receive the time you need.”

“It is good of you to do this,” Lani said graciously, hands falling to her sides once more, bowing slightly to the cleric. 

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us,” the woman said honestly, “but… I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people with listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us. Or destroy us.” The warning in her words was unmistakable. Here was a woman at a cross roads of faith and she had just handed a dalish elf the key to make or break this world- her world. _That is an awful lot of trust to place in someone you barely know,_ thought Lani. But it was trust she hoped to be worthy of. “I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering,” said the cleric. “It is not much but I will do whatever I can.”

“The Inquisition thanks you,” Lani said before excusing herself with a bow.

“How’d it go?” asked Varric as the Herald rejoined them, kneeling beside the woman Solas was healing and offering her aid as well. The woman had been badly wounded, but with their help she would make a full recovery.

“Huh?” Lani said, glancing up at the dwarf. “Oh. Right. Mother Giselle. She is a kind woman. A good one. Her knowledge with be invaluable to the Inquisition.” 

“It went well then,” Solas said gently resting the sleeping woman’s head on the pillow Cassandra had procured and withdrawing to look at Lani. She nodded.

“She suggests we send word to the clerics and gather with them in Val Royeaux. That we… That I go to the Orlesian capital to meet them.” the elven woman said thoughtfully, sitting back on her haunches, fingers laced loosely in front of her. “I tend to agree.” Cassandra and Varric looked mildly surprised though likely for different reasons. 

“Isn’t that a little suicidal, Vixen?” Varric asked hesitantly. Solas’s face revealed nothing as he studied the Herald’s face. Lani met the elven man’s gaze, holding it unblinkingly even as she address the dwarf. 

“Perhaps,” she conceded with a barely twitch of her head and shoulders. “But if we can make even a few of them doubt their convictions about me, we may be able to destabilize their position enough to gain the time we need to close the Breach.” Solas nodded slowly. Lani watching the light of understanding dawning in his sapphire eyes. 

“Then we should not delay,” he said raising abruptly.

“I… don’t think so,” the elven woman said reservedly. Her companions favored her with questioning looks. She took a moment to organize her thoughts, eyes narrowing as she did so. “Right now they fear me.” Lavellan remained crotched in the dust having not risen with Solas. Her locked hands bobbed as she spoke, mirroring the conviction of her thoughts. “The only things they have heard of me are my falling out of the Fade- the lone survivor of a terrible tragedy and my unsuccessful attempt at closing the Breach.” Lani’s fingers counted the events as she spoke of them. Cassandra and Varric spoke at once.

“But you stopped the Breach from…”

“Vixen, neither of those are you fau…”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly with a shake of her head. The others falling silent. “In their eyes, I am a dangerous element that would be better to eliminate than allow to fester.” 

“So what do you suggest?” asked Solas curiously. His head titled as he spoke, brow lowering. “We can not remain idle long while the Breach is still a threat.” She met his gaze evenly, her eyes shining with a calculating burning fire, lips pulling up at one corner. 

“We make ourselves less terrifying.” She smiled, wide and bright. Something just a little bit predatory in the gesture. 

“How?” asked Cassandra. Lani rose from her position and gestured around them. 

“We have already started,” she said simply. “We help anyone we can. We spread word of the Inquisition and its Herald on the lips of those we have done right by. If the people love me, at least respect me? If I have earned their trust? The Chantry will be under more pressure to respond favorably to me, to _us._ Or at least to leave us be. It will help in spreading doubt within their ranks if this _demon_ ,” she said distastefully, gesturing to herself, “is running around the countryside aiding the people they are too busy to deal with.”

“You’ll force their hand,” Solas said a wolfish smile of his own spreading across his lips. It was a beautiful plan. Elegant if a bit time consuming. If it worked, the favor of the people may not only sway a few cleric but could very well build the Inquisition into a force to be reckoned with. Lani nodded, her own lips still pulled back in that slightly feral grin. 

“Will it work?” asked Cassandra, deep in her own thoughts.

“Mother Giselle thinks so,” the Herald replied with a nod of her head. “And she does not strike me as a foolish woman.” 

“Where do we begin from here?” Solas asked quickly. Lani looked around them, studying the ruins and the drawn faces of the refugees. 

“We see what we can do to aid these people. Then we see a man about a horse.”


	11. Horse Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they see a man about a horse. Sleeping arrangements are rearranged. More combat, more rifts, more demons. P.S. -Despair demons are the worst! Solas gets a little too cocky and karma has a sick sense of humor.

They made camp halfway between the Cross Roads and Dennet’s farm, on a quiet shaded ledge by a waterfall. It had taken far longer than it should have to get even that far. Mostly due to mages and templars fighting each other and anyone that journeyed too close. And the Inquisition agents had made rather a habit of getting too close. But the companions had also taken the time to gather some much needed supplies to drop off at the Cross Roads on their way out of the Hinterlands a few days hence. It wouldn’t be enough for a long haul but it would hold the people over for the time being.

Then there were the strange glowing skulls Lavellan had found mounted on pedestals all around the area. When one peered through a small hole drilled in the back of a skull and looked through the shining blue gem mounted in the eye socket, odd shards of stone rippling with blue light would reflect, revealing their locations among the varied landscape. What these shards were was a mystery, as well as where the skulls had come from, though it seemed a bad idea to simply leave them laying about the wilderness. 

“Seeker,” said Solas as they gathered blood lotus in the shallow pools by the new camp, “you initially believed our ‘Herald of Andraste’ was involved in the attack on the Conclave, yes?”

“I did,” admitted Cassandra with a bob of her head, not looking up from her task. “The evidence seemed damning, given the lack of an alternative.

“Yet you changed your mind.”

“You also heard the voices at the temple—is it so surprising I listened to them?” she asked.

“Sadly, yes,” Solas said solemnly. “Too few invested with authority possess the courage to alter their course. They fear the appearance of weakness.”

“The truth is more important than my reputation,” was her firm reply. “And anyone wishing to accuse me of weakness is welcome to try.”

“I don’t believe you’ll find any takers here, Seeker,” Lavellan said with a small smile. 

Later, as the elven woman sat on a downed log by the fire letting her leggings dry out from their earlier foraging, a basket full of blood lotus and spindle weed nearby, she studied one of the aforementioned shards, turning it over and over in her palms, fingers tracing the rough surface. The blue flickers of magic undulated slowly and rhythmically across the stone. _It looks rather like a piece of a magical key,_ she thought. _If so, I wonder what it goes to._ She sighed, setting the piece aside and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. This was one of those times she wished Keeper Deshanna was around. The woman was a wealth of knowledge, both magical and mundane. Perhaps she would have some insight. But this was a riddle that would have to wait for another day. 

The others moved around the small camp checking gear before coming to ease the soreness of their muscles and chill from their limbs at the fire’s side. Solas made a soft huffy chuckling sound and Lavellan looked in his direction.

“Varric,” he said without looking up from the bindings he was rewrapping around his calves, “you joined the Inquisition when Seeker Pentaghast questioned you?”

“Ha,” Varric snorted, eyeing the woman in question, “she was… very _insistent_ that I help.” Cassandra rolled her eyes but didn’t so much as glance at them as she sat sharpening her blade with a basic wet stone.

“Interesting,” the elven man hummed.

“What’s interesting?” the dwarf asked, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“It’s surprising that an elven apostate is the one who joined the Inquisition voluntarily.” The Herald had to stifle a surprised snort of laughter. 

“You know, Seeker,” Varric said to Cassandra. “He’s not wrong. For someone with your tact and charisma you assemble a pretty good little Inquisition. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you didn’t get them _all_ here by force.”

“How kind of you,” she said dryly still refusing to look up. 

“You never know,” the dwarf rumbled. “You could have kidnapped Ruffles and she’d be too polite to say anything.”

“Leliana recruited Josephine. They’re… friends.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. 

“Ah. So there’s a rational explanation after all,” Varric snickered. “Just when I thought you had layers.” He nodded his head, considering something. His golden earrings twinkled in the fire light. “It makes sense that Leliana did the recruiting when the Inquisition started. Not everyone can be intimidated into signing up after all.”

" _I_ recruited Commander Cullen,” glowered Cassandra. 

“Lucky him.”

“Careful, Varric,” Lani warned, not quite able to keep the smile from her voice. “The Seeker is armed and I’m not coming to your rescue.”

“ _He_ has made no complaints about my manners,” Cassandra said, her chin lifting slightly as she spoke. 

“His last boss was a raving lunatic who turned into a statue. That’s not a high bar,” the dwarf noted dryly.

“Ah come on, Varric,” the dalish elf said. “Lay off. So she was a little spiking when we first met her.”

“A little?”

“So what? It’s not like either of us was above suspicion.” Cassandra nodded once in approval. 

“And now, Vixen?”

“Hey. It’s not like you’re helping your case at the moment,” Lani snarked at him ruefully. Solas chuckled from his spot by the fire. Varric opened his mouth then closed it again, giving a shrug and weary nod of his head.

The elven yawned stretching forward, using the movement to check that her leggings were thoroughly dry and warming her hands momentarily by the fire. The boots she had taken to wearing since joining the Inquisition- surprising how the simple lack or use of footwear so drastically changed how the humans reacted to her- were still damp so they’d stay by the heat overnight. 

They had brought two rather spacious tents to share, ampule room each for two adults and their packs. On the way to the Hinterlands, the women had shared one tent and the men the other, however Lani was putting an end to that here and now. _Oh this will go well,_ she thought.

“Cassandra. Varric,” she said raising, continuing her stretch upward. “You guys get one tent. I don’t care which. Solas and I will take the other.” The warrior and the dwarf exchanged a look, expressions taking on a cast of distaste, while Solas’s brow merely twitched. He said nothing. “Please try not to murder each other in the night.”

“Herald, I must protest…” Cassandra began.

“For once, I agree with the Seeker,” Varric grumbled glaring up at the warrior. She gave him a disgusted look and rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t see why a change in sleeping arrangements is ness…” Lani held up a hand, silencing the Seeker. 

“Because you snore,” she said bluntly. 

Cassandra mouth fell open, then she began to splutter. 

“And _you,”_ Lani said turning on the chortling dwarf, pointing at him accusingly. “I could hear you sawing logs from my tent on the other side of camp last night! _With_ gauze shoved in my ears!” That shut him up. “Tell me. How is Solas supposed to search the Fade for answers on how to save the world if the poor man can’t even get to sleep?” Solas smirked. It was true the dwarf was quite as loud in his sleep as he was awake. More so even. Though Solas had been willing to tolerate it as best he could in the field if that was what was needed. 

The elven woman stared down her companions as if daring them to contradict her. Cassandra just made a contemptuous noise, raising and throwing her gear unceremoniously into the tent nearest the tree leaving the pond side shelter for the elves. Lani nodded, moving to set her pack in the tent. 

“And to think, Vixen. I was starting to like you,” Varric said with narrowed eyes. 

“Aww you’ll love me. Just give it time,” she said smugly. 

“If I _die_ tonight, it’s on _your_ head,” he said pointedly. 

“Noted. And I’ll be sure to arrange for you a very lovely funeral. Carnations maybe? Or should we do roses?” She joked turning to Solas.

“For him? Forget-me-nots.”

“Ooo. I like that. Think we could find some Andraste’s Grace this time of year? Those are always so lovely.” 

“Alright. Alright,” the dwarf said raising his hands in defeat. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not dead yet.” Lani smiled ruefully. 

“I’m sorry, Varric.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled hefting his pack and ducking it inside the Seeker’s chosen tent. Only Solas and Lavellan remained by the dying fire now. 

“Welp, how long do you think it will take for Cassandra to forgive me?” Lani asked tiredly, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her forehead. 

“That will likely depend on the accuracy of your description of Varric’s snort.” 

“You would know. You were stuck with him the last two nights.” Solas nodded, his eyes sparkling. 

“True,” he smiled. “I would guess at least a week before she is no longer homicidal.”

“Fortunate for me then that there are so many people here to point her and her sword at.” Solas watched as the dalish woman gathered the rest of her things. Moving about on silent bare feet. She pivoted to him, her expression softened with mild concern. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I supposed, I should have asked you first before I switched up tent mates. Sorry for that.” He shrugged.

“The change was not necessary, but in truth I am relieved. He really does have quite the atrocious snore.” After a moment Solas asked, “was she really so bad?”

“Like a fly the size of a nug, buzzing in my ear all night long,” Lani grimaced tying her favorite mug- an elegant if simple hollowed out length of elm branch with a cast iron handle- to the side of her bag once more. “I’m rather fond of sleeping and, trust me, no one wants me flinging bolts of lighting when I’m sleep deprived and grumpy.” Her smile was warm, humor dancing in her eyes. “Besides,” she shrugged, “now I can pick your brain on all things Fadey.”

"I see,” he said, brow arching as he favored her with a knowing smirk. “So your motives were not entirely altruistic?

“Whose ever are,” she sing-songed toward the stars. He supposed it was a fair point. “Still, if it is all the same to you, I think I’ll just stick to sleeping part tonight. Save the interrogations for later. Need to make up for lost time,” the elven woman said hooking a thumb at the others’ tent. Already, Solas and Lani could heard the two inside bickering. She sighed heavily. “They’re adults. They’ll figure it out right?”

“We can only hope.” 

 

Lani and Solas awoke mostly well rested and certainly so compared to the other two. While they could still hear the offending breaths coming from their companions’ tent, with the elves’ combined barriers the sound was lessened to acceptable levels. On the upside, it meant Cassandra and Varric weren’t much for talking and the group soldiered on in relative peace. Travel moved more quickly than the day before, however, one major detour was had to clear out the rogue templar camp near the bridge to the farmlands. 

“So you’re the Inquisition, eh?” Horse Master Dennet had said as he opened the door to his home for the Herald of Andraste and her companions. “I hear you’re trying to bring order back. High time someone did.” He extending a hand to each of them in turn. “Never thought it’d be a Halla-rider from the wildlands though,” he said giving Lani an appraising look, taking in her ears and the prominent facial tattoos. “Names Dennet. I served Earl Eamon for thirty years as Horse Master. I hear your Inquisition is looking for mounts.”

“It is,” Lani nodded. “Can you help us?”

“Not at the moment,” he grumbled darkly. “I can’t just send a hundred of the finest horses in Fereldan down the road like you send a letter.” His words were blunt, impassioned. “Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap! You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.” Lani’s eyes narrowed, unable to tell if the man was simply brash by nature or if his harshness had something to do with her and possibly Solas’s ears. 

“If you have a problem with me personally,” she said slowly, brows lowering, “I’d like to know about it,”

“What? This because I called you a halla-rider?” He said startled, hands rising in a defensive gesture. “Those halla are damn majestic beasts! I’d give my right arm to ride one!” The elf dipped her head in acknowledgement. Just Brash then. “My wife Elaina manages the farms and Bron’s in charge of the guards. They’ll tell you what they need. You take care of them, you’ll have your horses.”

“Fair enough,” the elven woman said. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Dennet paced to the front room of his ranch home thinking. “Until then you deserve something better than whatever knock-kneed plow-neck they gave you,” he said stroking his short white beard. Coming to a stop before the window over looking the pasture, he nodded. “The chestnut over there is a purebred Fereldan Forder.” He pointed at the animal in question. Lavellan walked over to stand next to the man. “Take care of him, he’ll take care of you, Inquisition.” 

“Alright, Dennet,” Lani said looking out the window at the mount he had mentioned. The horse was handsome. Coat smooth and shining in the sunlight. A fair bit taller than the elven woman he had been loaned to and well muscled. “Thank you. He seems quite the fine horse.” 

“I’m glad to see you appreciate fine breeding when you see it,” the horse master said approvingly. “Fereldans don’t appreciate horses like they do in Orlais. But they knew my name in Val Royeaux.” Dennet’s voice was full of pride though not overly boastful. Here was a man who knew the quality of the goods he provided. Nothing more. “My horses took sick less and carried a man longer than any of those fancy prancers they’ve got. You take care of my people and I’ll make sure your Inquisition is riding right,” he said nodding to her. She bowed her head to him. 

“I look forward to it,” she smiled. “Maybe one day, if your lucky you’ll get your chance at a halla. I’ll warn you though, if you do, keep your head low. Those horns can hurt if you don’t mind them.” She favored him with a knowing smirk as she mimed rubbing at a spot on the back of her skull.

“I don’t doubt it, Inquisition,” He chuckled. “Not for a second.” 

 

It was easy enough to place find suitable locations for the watch towers Bron wanted among the hills, though Lani would have to travel back to Haven to inform Cullen and his men. They would begin the journey back the following morning. In the meantime, the Inquisition agents searched the area for the source of the wolves agitation. 

A giant rift was discovered near the farms. The demons spewing from it stronger than most they had encountered. _I really hate demons,_ Lani thought as a ray of icy energy angled on her. She ducked and rolled, trying to avoid it and managed to for the most part. She came out of the roll too soon, however, and the jet caught her on the shoulder, sending her hurtling for the ground. She stared at the rift above for moment, trying to reclaim the breath that was stolen from her. 

“Herald!” Cassandra shouted as she swung at the lesser fear demon before her. “Are you all right?” Still unable to speak Lani raised her arm giving the Seeker an ‘A okay’ gesture which turned into ‘the finger’ as she aimed it at the offending despair demon. A barrier slammed down around her as she rose to her feet again, courtesy of Solas. 

“Might I suggest, rolling a bit further next time,” he called to her. 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist the _joy_ of falling through the air…” she shouted back sarcastically, concentrating her focus on the demon and unleashing a bolt of fire that ripped a hole clear through its chest. “It’s wonderful. The utter absence of air in your lungs upon impact.” She sighed exaggeratedly. “You really ought to give it a try sometime.” 

“I think I’ll pass if it’s all the same to you.” At that moment, the Fade rift pulsed violently and two massive greater terror demons materialized as did a greater despair. 

“Oh for… really?” 

“Yes really,” Solas snarked at her through his grimace even as he threw down a new barrier.

“Shut it, you,” Lani snapped. 

“Ma nuvenin.” 

“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but if you’re done flirting can we get back to the important stuff. Like killing _those!”_ Varric called from his high perch, bolt after bolt flying at the despair demon as Bianca hummed. 

Lani ducked below a sheltered ledge and aimed the mark at the rift, disrupting it. The demons fell to their knees, giving Cassandra and Solas clear aim at the slender form of the terror demon nearest them. It bellowed in rage at their assault, pushing up roughly to its feet. Claws reaching out in sweeping arches even as its crumbling body was pulled back into the rift.

“Move!” Lani cried but they were not fast enough. The second and third demon had used the first as a distraction. The second terror demon ripped at the ground beneath it, a portal forming at the feet of the warrior and mage. The terror exploded from beneath them just as the despair demon opened fire with a jet of deadly ice. The jet glanced off Cassandra, breaking her guard as the erupting terror sent her tumbling into the river. She came to her feet quickly enough but her armor was badly damaged and her motion slowed. Solas did not fair as well. He took a direct hit from the despair demon, the force of it popping his barrier like a bubble and flattening him to the earth. He lay still even as the terror demon made to tear him apart. 

The Herald of Andraste roared in defiance and rage, disrupting the rift once more. As soon as the terror bowed she detonated the soil around it, flames racing up the sides of the beast as it screamed. Dissolving. 

“Varric!” She shouted casting aside her staff. The dwarf was already on it. The elven woman spun taking up aim at the despair demon that had been behind her, amethyst and amber flames dancing in her palms. Varric ready and waiting sent an exploding bolt straight at the demons throat as Lani unleash the flames upon. The arrow and magical fire reacted with blinding flash of light and a roar of sound. The demon was devoured by violet and emerald light as it was suck back into the rift. 

The marked elf thrust her hand in Veil tear’s direction, power hissing and sizzling in the damp air before the rift exploded outward and was gone. 

Lani ran to Solas, who still lay motionless in the mud, skidding to her knees beside him, pressing the fingers of one hand to his throat. He was still alive, but stunned. Small curls of frost rose from torn and frozen fabric. The exposed skin of his hand and face red and raw in places. Fool, she thought angrily but to whom the thought was directed even she could not say. One hand curled around the back of his head as she raised him gently from the water and mud, tucking a calf below his neck for support. There was a rock there, just below the murky surface. The back of his head must have struck it in the fall. That made her uneasy. 

Her fumbling fingers dug in the bag at her hip for a lyrium potion. That last spell had cost her gravely and if she simply tried to pour a healing potion down his throat there were equal odds of him choking on it. 

She ripped the cork from the glowing blue bottle with her teeth as Varric and Cassandra approached, the dwarf under the arm of the blood-stained warrior for support. The elf spared them a concerned glance, Cassandra holding up a weak hand to say that she could wait. Lani nodded once and downed the potion in her hand in one swallow, tossing the empty vile against a rock. The tinkle of broken glass echoed softly around them. Sliding her now free hand beneath the collar of his tunic, she closed her eyes concentrating, only dimly aware of the others as they lowered themselves to the ground near her. 

Lani could feel the subtle warmth of his skin, the sweaty dampness of it below her fingers. She concentrated on it. The furrow between her brows deepened as she willed her power into him. Magic ebbing and flowing in time to his pulse. Both power and pulse growing slowly stronger the longer she held him there. Her own heart beat syncing to his. 

There wasn’t much damage, but there was enough to be worrisome. She worked on that which a potion of the caliber they currently carried would be hard pressed to fix. The rest he could deal with himself as she saw to Cassandra. The concussion worried her most, as did the worst of the frost burns. They took a subtly and finesse to heal and she was deeply thankful for the training she had gotten with her clan. 

Solas’s eyes flickered open to see Lani’s face bowed above his. The green branches of her brow tangling as she frowned, eyes tightly shut. Her lips parted ever so slightly. He could feel the odd tingling warmth of her power as is pulsed with him, its distinct feel unique only to her as all magic was to its barer. The ache in his head and neck were receding steadily as the woman worked, a fact for which he was grateful, as was the stinging burning numbness of the frost bite. When most of the discomfort was gone he pushed out his own will against hers. 

Lavellan felt the cool brush of it and her frown twitched then dissipated. Emerald and gold eyes opening to see his blue. He blinked a slow gentle smile at her and she withdrew her power and the hand from his collar with a nod. She helped him sit up then moved to sit beside the Seeker. Solas plucked a health potion from his belt. His muscles protested as he moved, annoyed at their rough treatment but the potion would eliminate that soon enough. Sipping at it he studied the others. 

That had been the most powerful rift they had closed, save the one at the Temple of Scared Ashes. It showed in his companions. Cassandra hissed as Lani helped reset her dislocated shoulder, encouraging her to drink the rest of the heath potion clutched in the Seeker’s good hand. 

“Good thing we’ll be back in Haven soon,” the dalish elf was saying. “You’re armor is looking a bit rough. Will it hold?” She light tone belied the concern beneath it.

“It’ll last for now,” the Seeker grimaced, inspecting the battered metal. 

All of them were covered in varying degrees of muck and blood. Varric was the cleanest among them as his perch had kept him mostly out of the way of the demons as he attacked. Still even he did not escape unscathed, Solas watching a gash on his lower jaw seal as the dwarf downed his own container of red healing potion. 

Dizziness abated and soreness receding to tolerable levels Solas let his power surge briefly. He little out a final little shiver as warm floated his limbs, melting the remaining frost that clung to him and heating his robes slightly. 

Lani flopped down from her kneeling position beside Cassandra, legs kicked out in front of her, and sighed heavily. 

“Well, that was fun,” she said sardonically. “Have I mentioned I really hate demons? Because I do. Like a lot.” 

“It’s not their fault they are like that,” mumbled Solas. “They are hurting and confused…”  

“It’s not my fault I’m the _Herald of Andraste,_ and my hand feels like it’s on fire, either,” Lani pointed out, “yet you don’t see me smashing poor apostate elves three inches into the mud and throwing Seekers halfway across Thedas just because I’m a little pissed off.” Her voice wasn’t overly heated, just tired and frustrated. Solas debated arguing the point and decided against it. Now was not the time. “Anyway,” the elven woman sighed, turning stiffly to dig in her pack and producing four sandwiches, “Who's hungry?”

“You really are a miracle,” Varric said in awe reaching for one.

“Where did you get these,” Cassandra asked unwrapping one and taking a hungry bite out of it. Lani shrugged, leaning across them to toss Solas his.

“Seanna- you know, Dennet’s daughter- was going to give me her dress money if I beat her best time on the race courses.” She ripped the cork from a health potion and sipped at it while she ate as though it was nothing more than grape juice. “I figured the Inquisition didn’t need her savings quite that badly so instead I suggested sandwiches.” She raised her’s by way of example. “They seemed to fill a rather more pressing need. Also the kid makes a damn fine one. Win-win as far as I’m concerned.” Varric hummed in content agreement. 

“That was… kind of you,” Cassandra said looking at the elf as if seeing her for the first time. 

“Meh,” the woman said dismissively. “Kids should get to be kids, even when the world is ending. It was honorable for her to offer, but -and maybe I’m just a sentimental fool here- I think the girl deserved a dress more than we needed her piggy bank.” Lani took another bit, savoring it with a happy sound. “Besides. Sandwich.” They chuckled. 

Unfortunately, the rift had not been the source of the foul wolves. Solas stifled a groan as he rose to his feet after their lunch break. 

“Have fun falling through the air?” Lani asked lightly with a snide smile curling her lips as she retrieved her staff. “Told you it was a blast.” Solas’s eye narrowed in her direction. She snorted. “Walk it off, fade-walker. We’ve got a wolf hunt to finish.” 

 

As it turned out, a fear demon holed up in a cave not far up stream from the rift was the cause of the rabid wolves. _Yay… more demons,_ thought Lavellan dryly.. The poor beasts had been possessed by the creature, driving them mad. At least, this particular demon wasn’t very strong and thus easily handled. On the upside, they now had a great deal more canine fur for crafting. Lani would take their silver linings where she could get them. 

The agents had planned to head back to Dennet’s farm to tell Elaina about their success with the wolves before calling it quits for the night and retiring to the camp they’d set up not far from there. To their surprise, Elaina offered them dinner at the homestead, which they gladly accepted. The meal wasn’t anything special, but it was home cooked and warm and delicious all the same. And the company was nice. Lani spent much of the evening telling Dennet all about the halla she had help raise and the Dalish All-breds they sometimes had. 

“I’ve heard of them,” the horse master said scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Fine beasts. Don’t find them much around here though. Only seen one a time or two. Shame really. Humble beginnings or not, those horses are some of the most loyal you’ll ever come by.” 

“You don’t have to tell me” Lani agreed. “Had one in our clan that had been raised all her life by the same hunter. Poor man went missing on a hunt and had left the horse at camp. I’ll be damned if she didn’t break her leads and go searching for him herself.”

“You’re kidding!” He said leaning forward across the table, spilling a bit of his ale. Lani shook her head smiling.

“Dragged him back to camp too. If it wasn’t for her, the hunter may while have died out there before we could find him.” Dennet just stared at her, shaking his head in awed disbelief. “Same horse,” Lani continued setting down her own mug, “pulled a burning aravel up a rise to safety. Never flinched. Just did it without being told. Kicked in a section so those inside could escape.”

“I’ll be damned,” the old horse master breathed. 

“Gave her life to free those people. Good horse,” Lavellan said reverently. “One of the best I’d ever had the pleasure of working with. Clan was forever grateful to her after that. I think Niren still carries some of her ashes with him to this day.” Dennet eyed the elf thoughtfully, stroking his beard. 

“Ya know, Inquisition,” he said reservedly, “you’re all right in my book.” She laughed, the notes deep like ringing Chantry bells.

“I’m glad to hear it.”


	12. Wraith In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Herald acquires or is acquired by a new pet/companion/advisor- depending upon who you ask. Anyway you look at it, you can't go wrong with four paws, whiskers, and purrs.

“There! What is that?” 

The elven mages, the dwarven storyteller, and the Seeker had just cleared out a rogue mage stronghold crammed into a cave and were digging through what remained. Bags, boxes, sacks, and chests. Some filled with trinkets, others with coin, still more with supplies left behind. It was Cassandra who shouted, drawing their attention to a pair of glowing red eyes in the far corner of the cavern even as she raised her blade and shield ready for attack. 

Lani’s pupils dilated, making up for the dim lighting, as she tried to focus on the mysterious creature. She sighed as the outline took shape. Getting up from where she had been crouched, the elf walked to the corner. 

“Herald, be carefully. We don’t know what…” Lani lifted something and turned back to them. A lean form spilled over her arms. 

“Yes, Seeker we should all fear for our lives,” the dalish woman said theatrically. She was beginning to like Cassandra but sometimes the elf just couldn’t contain her snark. Still Lavellan couldn’t help the smile that spread across her features or the laugh that entered her voice. “Be wary of his tiny teeth for he might bite your finger. Assuming, of course, he could even fit it in his mouth.” 

“Is that a… a kitten?” Asked Varric shocked and soon overcome with giggles.

“So it would seem,” said Solas, his brows lifting, a small smile of his own tugging at his lips. 

“Come on, you. Let’s get a look at ya in the daylight,” said Lani getting a better hold on the small fellow, carrying him toward the bright light beyond the cave’s entrance. The cat chirped and mewed the whole way, a deep rumbling purr vibrating his whole body. 

The little feline’s short fur was in varying shades of smoke and ash. His under belly was pale cream with a tan blaze over his breast bone. His narrow face, ears, and long slim tail were coal black. Stark white whiskers graced his smokey features. While his legs grew a steadily deeper grey as they neared his feet, his toes themselves were snow white, as was the small smudge between his deep blue hued eyes. 

“Where did you come from, little one,” Lani whispered to him as she inspected a tear in his ear, willing a small bit of power into the wound, sealing it. The kitten couldn’t have been more than a few months old, six months at the most- on the way to adulthood but still quiet young. He was all long lanky limbs and narrow body. A bit too narrow if you asked the elf. Someday he was going to be quite a large cat, assuming he made it that far, and quite handsome. 

“Poor little guy looks hungry,” said Varric removing his pack and pulling some dried ram meat from within. Offering it to the kitten still clutched in the Lavellan’s grip. The cat, in turn, sniffed tentatively before wrapping tiny paws around the dwarf’s offered fingers, nibbling away at the morsel. Varric chortled. 

“What are you going to do with him, Herald?” asked Solas, studying the interaction from a pace or two away.

“Yes?” asked Cassandra coming to stand next to the elven woman. “Will you take him with us?” The tiny sliver of hope in her voice was not lost on Lani who smiled at the little beast as it continued to eat from Varric’s outstretched fingers. 

“I don’t see as it is my decision to make,” said Lani lightly, finally setting the now fed kitten on the ground. Solas dipped his head to her even as both Varric and Cassandra looked a little crest fallen. “However,” she added with a smirk, “if the little nug wishes to tag along I, for one, will not turn him away. The Inquisition can use all the support it can get, correct? I’d say he counts. Though he will be free to leave at anytime, should he so choose. He is a creature unto himself, after all, and free to make that choice on his own.” 

“It is a fair decision,” allowed Solas with a slight tilt of his head. Cats were odd creatures. So like spirits in many ways. Never truly tamed, only befriended. They lived by their own code. Followed their own paths. Even the trapping of such a small being for one’s own pleasure was repellent to Solas. All things should be allowed to live as they chose, with in reason of course. For Lavellan to allow the cat make the choice on his own pleased the elf greatly, even if no small part of him hoped the feline would follow them. He was somewhat fond of felines after all. 

The group decided to eat lunch outside the cave, though they were all well aware it was mostly so they could enjoy time with the kitten before leaving for Haven. No one minded. The small reprieve and simple joy their tiny foundling gave them was a welcome distraction from the hardships they faced.

The furry wraith chased leaves about the area as Solas made them flutter and dance. Varric dangled a bit of string enticingly for him to swat at. Cassandra absently stroked his short downy fur as he wound circles between her leg bracers and hopped unto her lap. Such a sweet little thing, she thought, as he chewed gently on one of her leather gloved fingers. Of all of them though, the kitten seemed most drawn to Lavellan. Content to curl up on her outstretch legs as she sat in the grass reading and purr. 

“He seems quite taken with you, Herald,” the Seeker pointed out as Lani lazily stroked his fur, reviewing the latest reports from the nearby scouts. The elf grinned without looking up, wagging the fingers of the petting hand at Cassandra.

“I cheat,” she said simply.

“I see.” Cassandra’s eyebrows rose even as she smirked slightly. 

“There are worse uses for magic,” Solas mused. “ _He_ certainly seems quite content.”

“Why shouldn’t he be?” Lavellan cooed at the kitten over the papers in her hand. “I’m like his own personal little sunbeam. Complete with massage.” They all laughed. 

All too soon, it was time to continue their journey. They needed to make their way back to Haven to touch base with the advisors, organize the building of watch towers, and figure out their next move. The choice between the templars and the mages was nearing and there was still an incredible amount of work to do. 

The kitten hopped onto a nearby tree stump as the party made ready to leave the little clearing, pawing at anyone who neared. His attempts to get them to play once more failed, the little ashen cat mewing pitifully. The sound tugged at Lani, but with a few last pets and a rub between the ears from the dalish woman the group left, leaving the little one to follow or remain behind. The choice was his alone to make. The tiny cat chattered away at them from his perch, though his calls became sadder and more desperate eventually fading behind them completely as the distance grew. 

Lani had been hopeful he would follow though it seemed more and more likely he had not. Her expression fell and was mirrored on Cassandra and Varric’s faces. Even Solas looked more mournful that usual as they walked. It was not likely the little one would get far on his own, especially in these times, and it saddened Lani. Still there were plenty of mice and sparrows in the area. Perhaps he would be all right. 

Not long after, the companions arrived at the nearby Inquisition outpost. If they hurried they would be able to saddle the horses and make for the village in the mountains before nightfall. They worked in relative silence strapping their gear to the horses’ backs. Each of them casting hopeful glances in the direction they had come. Still the kitten did not appear. 

Lani mentioned him to the Inquisition agents who would remain behind as she filled a few final requisitions. She asked that they look out from him should he appear. They agreed do so gladly. Then she saddled up and turned her horse to leave the Hinterlands behind. _Dareth shiral, little nug,_ she thought. _May the Creators guide your journey._ She kicked her horse into motion. An easy trot.

 

From far behind them Lani thought she heard something. She turned in her saddle but saw nothing, not even the camp they had so recently left behind. Just a bird or a squirrel, she sighed. Still her ears strained, listening. 

There is was again. She slowed her horse, rotating on its back and searched the road behind them. Nothing. 

“Herald?” 

“I thought I… never mind. It was nothing.” They continued their progress, though now all of them were on edge, straining their ears for any sound while trying to appear as if they were not. 

This time Lani could not mistake it. She whirled her horse around sharply, dismounting. She waited. 

Out of the dust the horses had kicked up came a small shadow. The sound of frantic chirping mixing with the occasional sneeze as the young cat began to take shape, hopping and skipping as kittens do as he raced to catch up to them. 

“It would seem he has made his choice,” said Solas not caring to keep the smile from his voice.

“Well would you look at that,” Varric laughed. A deep jovial sound starting somewhere deep in his chest. And though one would be hard pressed to see through the hard mask she wore, Cassandra’s eyes flashed with mirth as she let out a small happy snort. 

Lani knelt in the dust as the little one pranced over to her, giving her a thorough telling off along the way for leaving him behind. Punctuated now and again with a sneeze so forceful it made his head shake and ears wobble, rocking him back on his haunches. She smiled as he brushed forcefully against her legs.

“Well, little one, what do you say? You coming with us?” He sat back on his narrow hips, front paws reaching up to rest on her bent knee as he studied her. She lowered her face to his and he pushed against it gently, eyes closing as he purred deeply. 

Then, with little warning, he launched himself up her arm to her shoulder where he curled in between the collar of her robes and her neck. “I guess that answers that,” she chuckled, rising. “Welcome to the Inquisition, little spook.” She scratch the top of his head with two of her fingers. His ears flattening out to the sides happily, giving her more space for thorough head rubs. The warm furry body rumbled in her ear as she climbed back on her horse, taking the reins and nudging the powerful forder into motion. If the horse minded the secondary passenger he made no show of it. 

“Well, Solas,” Lani said as she came along side him, “I hope you don’t mind cat hair. I think we’ll have a tent companion for the next night or two.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” the elf said lightly. 

The cat favored him with a heavily lipped contented look. Dirt covered toes stretched out wide before coming to drape gently over the dalish woman’s collar bone. His long, dark, narrow tail curled loosely around the Herald’s throat. The feline seemed to settle into a comfortable snooze as they rode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little furry nug in this chapter is 100% inspired by my cat - Grimalkin (Grim- for short). Sweet fellow. You never have to wonder where he is because he'll tell you... constantly... But if you're looking for cuddles, he's your cat.


	13. Not Tea For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald and Solas get to know each other a little better.

For what felt like the millionth time, Lani awoke wishing she could transform in a wolf, tuck her freezing nose in a fluffy tail, and be done with this blasted weather. She didn’t mind the snow. It was beautiful, sparkling like infinite minuscule diamonds upon the ground and in the air. It was the wind and bitter chill that cut to her core. During the day she was able to protect herself by warming the air around her just enough to make it bearable or forming a barrier to block the wind, but at night, with so much on her mind, her focus would slip and the cold would consume her. Icy air whistling through the seams in her walls. Her only solace was the small cat who had taken to burrowing under the covers with her or sitting on top of her and them while she slept. It was impressive how much heat the furry little beast could produce.

They had arrived back in Haven early two days pervious and Lani had been swarmed the second they crossed under the gate, whisked away to the war council without so much as the chance to set down her bag. Varric was kind enough to do that for her and introduce their feline friend, whom they had decided to name Valen because out his youth and loud voice, to his new home. 

At least, she and her companions had been able to deliver some of the much needed supplies to the refugees at the Cross Roads before leaving the Hinterlands. Granted they would likely be returning with more in the not so distant future. Still she did not like the thought of those people suffering any more than necessary any longer than necessary. 

Frustrated and cranky the _Herald of Andraste_ rose, busying herself about her quarters before giving in to the need for fresh if freezing air. 

Solas was sitting on the rocky ledge beside his hut reading in the early morning light when Lavellan came trudging up the steps from the lower level of the town where her cabin lay. He was not used to seeing her up so early. Then again he was not used to being up so early either. It seemed no one slept well with the Breach hovering about them. 

He watched with mild interest as the elven woman moved about by the main fire pit. While he could not hear her voice from his ledge he could tell she was grumpy and muttering as she set about gathering the required items to rekindle the blaze. He chuckled as she dropped a log on her toe and looked up toward the sky with clenched fists. Solas had spend enough time with her by now to know she was trying not to swear and likely failing miserably. The tall elven man smiled. Raising from his reading to return the book to the neat stacks upon his desk. 

By the time Solas was once more outside and making his wary approach, Lani was hunched over beside her newly reformed fire, a thin blanket wrapped tightly about her shoulders, nose deep and staring into a wooden cup, mumbling angrily under her breath. 

“Dare I ask what your cup has done to earn such chastisement?” the bald elf smirked. “It seemed the logs were giving you far more trouble that the lowly mug.”

“Huh? Oh. G’morning, Solas,” she said trying to force the irritability from her voice and not wholly succeeding. She leaned back on her stool so as to make herself look more approachable than she felt. After all, he was not the reason she was hips deep in this mess freezing her ears off. Not the reason she’d been at the Conclave or the reason it exploded or why she was now marked by some strange magic that somehow made her able to do what no one else could. He had not dubbed her the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ _He_ did not deserve her wrath. Heck, the man was the only reason she was still alive. The least she could do is try to be pleasant. “Care for a cup?”

“I do not drink tea.”

“Okay. Good to know… Care for a cup?” The apostate dreamer just stood staring at her, one eyebrow slowly rising as if questioning her ability to hear. _Oh come on. I am not in the mood for this,_ she thought. “What?” she said shortly. “I asked if you wanted a cup. I said nothing about it being tea. _You_ made _that_ particular assumption on your own.” His eyebrow continued to rise, soon to be joined by the other, a shadow of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Look. It’s not tea, but if you don’t want any I won’t force you. Not really into the whole peer pressure thing.” She huffed a falling snowflake away from her face and pulled her blanket more tightly around herself, a few stray hairs framing her cheekbones. He seemed to consider the matter for a moment before nodding and coming to sit by her and the fire. 

Lani reached inside the small well worn leather bag she had carried up with her, retrieving a second elm mug and a tiny gauze pouch. 

“You said it wasn’t tea,” Solas pointed out eyeing the small bag with suspicion. She nodded holding the offending item out to him to smell. 

“No tea leaves involved. Nor caffeine. Some dried fruits and such but thats about it,” the Herald said with a shrug. Her eyebrows contorted as she listed the items, endeavoring to remember them all. “Strawberries, raspberries, a bit of orange peel, a _hint_ of peach, rose petals, candied violets, and a touch of elfroot.”

Solas sniffed the bag hesitantly, nostrils greeted by a pleasantly fruity aroma. Lani gave him a questioning look and he nodded returning the small pouch to her. The elven woman promptly dropped it in the mug before pouring steaming water from the pot hung over the fire in as well. “Let that sit for about three minutes then pull out the bag,” she instructed as she poured. “I prefer it with honey. Sometimes even a splash of milk. But those are rather more difficult to come by on the road,” she said handing him the now warm mug. Solas took it with a bob of thanks. It was surprising how well the rough-hewn mug fit in one’s hand. “And I don’t feel like badgering Threnn for honey when she is already so strapped for supplies.” She added with a sigh, raising her cup to him in a small toast. “To waking up to a new morning having successfully not frozen to death in the night.” 

Solas chuckled and lifted his own cup to her then brought it to his nose. He was still hesitant about its contents but figured a shared cup may warm the elven woman further to her new surroundings and companions. Solas prided himself on his ability to read those around him but this woman was hard to peg. She threw herself into battle with the calculated brutality of a predator, something not common in other mages he had met. She had demonstrated a willfulness, stubbornness, and ferocity as to be Cassandra’s equal. However, she was more metered than the Seeker, more open minded than he would expect, and thus open to new ideas and strategies, actively seeking the counsel of those around her and using their insight to form her own decisions. She was also sarcastic and witty with a strong sense of humor while still remaining compassionate. All traits he admired. The Herald had the makings of a fine leader but whether she would prove to be one in the end or not was not yet entirely clear. 

The elven man pulled the gauze pouch from his mug and set it aside. He sniffed at the liquid before taking a tentative sip. It was still quite hot. Solas blew on it, instilling a chill in his breath to cool the drink before taking another sip. The flavor was delicate, lacking the bitterness he so often associated with steeped drinks. It was as if someone had distilled a bright summer morning into a beverage. Robust and lightly sweet. It seemed to warm Solas from within. 

Lani had been quiet while he drank, thoughts lost in the fire or in the bottom of her own mug as she rolled it between her palms. She did not mind the mage’s company. Solas had mirrored her reserved politeness, comfortable to share silence as well as conversation, and when his sly wit did appear it was muted. They were curious about one another, no need to deny that. After all they were both elven apostates and seemed the two most closely tied to the mark. It would seem they had a fair bit in common.

“Do you make this yourself?” Solas asked. She nodded, thoughts still focused elsewhere. “Impressive. I can understand why it might be of comfort to you,” he said gently after a few moments. “It is reminiscent of northern summers, is it not?” She gave him a warm look and a nod. “Odd that you could find such fruits and flowers here this time of year.”

“I brought a fair amount with me when I left my clan for the Conclave,” she explained. “Once dried, the ingredients are light and do not take up much space in a pack. Easy enough to replenish along much of the way as none of them are overly rare- just not in season in this part of Thedas.” The elven woman took a long pull and sighed contentedly. “The candied violets are some times tricky to come by,” she admitted. “Have to buy them from merchants. But the brew tastes fine enough without them.”

“Ah I see,” he said thoughtfully swirling the mug’s contents. “I imagine you could alter this depending upon the seasons and available stocks.” 

“Mhmm,” Lavellan hummed. “Tis rather the point. Though I imagine if I am unable to find the ingredients need here or suitable replacements and I become desperate enough, I could ask Ellana to send me some supplies. They grow plentiful enough on the trails my clan use.” 

“In the Marches, correct?” He asked. She nodded. 

“Been a Marcher my whole life.” 

“If I may,” Solas said rolling his mug slightly between palm, “here seems an awful long way for a clan to send one of its members. Especially a First and especially alone. What interest would the dalish have in a congregation of Chantry officials discussing templar/mage strife?”

“Just gonna come right out with it, eh?” Lani said with a sigh. She rolled her eyes wearily, expression irritated but not heated. “You mean, why was I at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in the first place?” She had been asked this question more times than she cared to count. “I’m _quite_ sure Cassandra could tell you,” she said dryly raising her mug to her lips. _Or Leliana. Or Cullen. Or any number of guards._

“I imagine she could,” he conceded, “though I’m sure much of the subtly of your answer would be lost in such a retelling.”

“Subtly?” she said cocking an eyebrow. 

“You have always been eloquent in your answers. Well thought and precise.” He nodded. “I would prefer to hear your version.” 

“I wouldn’t say I’ve _always_ been eloquent,” she said smiling wryly. “I’m fairly certain I’ve mumbled some very crude unladylike things… sometimes rather loudly.” 

“Not sure I can blame you for that,” Solas laughed. She was referring to awakening in her cell as a prisoner. That particular outburst was a favorite one among the guards and frequently retold in the Tavern. “Most of us do not respond well to waking up to swords pointed in our direction.”

“True that, Ser mage.” She chuckled, raising her mug to him. She shook her head. “Very well. How much do you know about the dalish?” A look crossed Solas’s face as if someone had waved sometime quite unpleasant under his nose. “… on second thought don’t answer that. Something tells me we don’t know each other quite well enough for _that_ particular talk…” Solas opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and closed it, nodding his head in agreement. “Anyway, you wanted to know why I was at the Conclave. The answer to that is as simple as it is complex. In short, Clan Lavellan learned long ago what many other clans refuse to. We can not expect to exist peacefully in this world without being aware of those around us.”

“It would seem a simple truth, yes,” he allowed. 

“The longer version is: while other clans hide with their heads in the sand pretending that humans will leave them be or give them sovereign land by the force of their elven wills alone, Clan Lavellan chooses instead to keep an ear to the politics of men. The more we know about their world, the more we can better plan for the future of ours. When to be involved and when not to be.”

“There is a great wisdom in that philosophy, Herald,” Solas said mildly, surprised and more than a little pleased though he kept much of those feelings to himself. 

“It has served us quite well so far,” she agreed. “We have been able to build ties with some cities and land holder that makes traveling safer and trading more profitable. More than anything however, we realize that this rebellion could that implications for all of Thedas and thus us. We’d rather know what wars rage around us than be caught blind and in between.” Solas nodded.

“And why did your Keeper choose to sent you, her First, and only you on such an important mission?”

_“I_ was sent specifically _because_ I am Keeper Deshanna’s First. One day, I am to take over for her and lead Clan Lavellan. It was by her leave that I came to be at the Conclave ‘to learn human politics’ first hand.” Lani chuckled at her own pun, but then gazed up at the hole in the sky shaking her head, a heavy breath crossing her lips. “I came alone because… because one elf is less noticeable than a group, less likely to arouse suspicion.” It wasn’t a lie, merely not the whole truth. She had been sent alone because she was special- able to move faster and survive better on her own than others of her kin. Able to be unseen when needed. “But I dare say we all got a bit more than we bargained for out of that one.” 

“Indeed we did,” he said with a sad smile. “Thank you, Herald. That was far more of an answer than I had expected,” Solas said, brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration as he stared down at the mug in his hands. He had honestly expected her to lie or to give him only part of an answer. Not only did her explanation ring of truth but made a great deal of sense. More than he expected of the Dalish to be sure. “And it is better than I hoped. It is good to see that not all dalish are blind to the realities of the world in which they now live in.” 

“I won’t disagree with you there, Solas,” she chuckled grimly. “My people can be damn fools at times.” Her gaze turned away from the torn sky once more and focused on him. “And by the way, call me Lani.” The tall elven man looked at her, head tilting and brow lowering. “Or Lavellan, if Lani is too personal for your tastes,” she added as an afterthought.

“Do not dismiss the power a title such as ‘Herald of Andraste’ can hold,” he warned. “It may be a great asset to you and the Inquisition.”

“I don’t dismiss it,” she said quickly her own brow lifting. “I allow the others to call me ‘Herald’ because it brings them hope and, as you said, there is a power in it. But neither you or I believe as they do and thus there is no reason for you to call me ‘Herald’ in private company. I am not a herald of _any_ god, never have been, will never claim to be- no matter how much the Seeker and Spymaster may want me too. I am just me.” 

Solas mulled it over as he drank the last of his ‘not tea.’ It really was quite good. Finally, he turned to her nodding. “Ma nuvenin, Lavellan. Though for the sake of formality, I will still call you ‘Herald’ whilst on official business. Otherwise, I shall do as you request in that regard.” He could understand all too well the burden an unwanted but useful title could place on a person. 

“It is all that I ask,” she said offering to refill his cup. He declined, handing the now empty vessel back to it’s rightful owner. “With all the craziness of the last few days and all the madness that still lays ahead, I need a break from the constant gawking. If my only reprieve from infamy is to be in the middle of nowhere, covered in mud, knee deep in a freezing bog, and unwashed for a week… well I’m liable to punch someone… in the throat…with a sword. And somehow I really don’t think Cassandra or Leliana would approve of that.”

“Likely not, no,” Solas chuckled.

“It will be safer for everyone if there are at least a few people I do not have to maintain this foolish serenade around constantly,” she sighed, taking a sip and savoring it before continuing. “I'm all for doing what is needed. Being who is needed, where they are needed. But I’d rather not lose all of myself in the process.”

“An understandable want and concern, Lavellan,” he acknowledged. “It is easy for some to forget, that behind the titles, those in power or with great power are all just people.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Especially when it is power said person never wanted or asked for,” she added darkly under her breath. Solas heard but made no comment as it was clearly a self reflection. Still he felt a small twinge of regret at what had befallen her due to his folly. 

Burying her chill reddened nose in her mug, Lani closed her eyes in happiness, breathing deeply. _It’s the simple things that sometimes bring the most comfort,_ she mused. _Are the most grounding._

The elvhen man studied the dalish woman in the silence that followed. Saw the way the sunrise and firelight illuminated her features. Her vibrantly green eyes taking on a honeyed gold cast as she eyed the contents of her near empty mug. The old scar on her cheek was dimmed by the morning light as well as her vallaslin. If he squinted he could almost picture her without them. Lavellan toyed idly with one of her piercings, rolling the hoop between long fingers. The small stones in her lower ears glinted like drops of dew as she moved. 

“Well,” she said stirring from her thoughts, downing the last of her cup, and stretching. “I’m hungry.” She gave him a warm friendly smile. “Care to grab some breakfast with me before the rest of the Haven is up and bustling? I’d rather keep the gaping to a minimum this early in the day if at all possible.” 

“Very well. If you insist.”

“I don’t insist,” she smirked, “but the company would be nice all the same.” 

It did not take Lani long to stow her bag in her hut and slip on a proper coat. Solas waited by the fire for her to reappear. Together making their way to the tavern. 

“So…” she said as they sat at small table near the freshly lit fireplace. “Tell me about yourself, Solas.”

“Why?” He said warily, brow furrowing in suspicion. 

“Why not?” She said pulling off a piece of the small bread loaf they shared and plopping it in her mouth. 

“Privacy,” Solas countered pointedly. “Caution. Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done.”

“Fine. Then don’t tell me.” Her tone was respectful, if a little annoyed. “I wasn’t asking as part of the Inquisition,” she said gesturing around them with an absent wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes. “You’re an apostate, yet you risked your freedom to help the Inquisition. That has me interested, nothing more.”

“Not the wisest course of action when framed that way,” he conceded, picking up his spoon. 

“I appreciate the work you’re doing, Solas,” she said earnestly, dipping another bite of bread in her bowl. “I just wanted to know more about you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said smiling slightly as he bowed his head apologetically to her. “With is so much fear in the air…” He shook his head frowning. “What would you know of me?” 

“Let’s start with…What made you start studying the Fade?” It seemed a safe enough place to begin. It was clearly something the man was passionate about. Perhaps her curiosity would open him up further. 

“I grew up in a village to the north,” he said between bites. “There was little to interest a young man. Especially one gifted with magic.” Solas rested his spoon absently on the side of his bowl, voice becoming distant and excited with memory. “But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.” 

“Did spirits try to tempt you,” Lani asked both concerned and interested. 

“No more than brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it,” he said gesturing to a bowl of apples on a table nearby before reaching forward to take a piece of bread for himself. “I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits. And how to interact safely with the rest.” Lani eyed him, intrigued. “I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so _much_ I wanted to explore.” 

“I gather you didn’t spend your entire life dreaming,” she smiled, one brow rising. 

“No,” he admitted. “Eventually, I was unable to find new areas in the Fade.” 

“Really?” Lavellan asked surprised. “Why?”

“Two reasons,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “First- the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled I would never find anything new.” Solas’s voice was eager. Happy to be talking about the Fade and its complexities to one actively interested. Very few were. “Second- the Fade reflects, and is limited by, our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting,” he said with a slight tilt of his head, blue eyes shining.  
“Hmm…Is this why you joined the Inquisition?”

“I joined the Inquisition because we are all in terrible danger.” It was simple truth. “If our enemies destroy the world, I would have no where to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade.”

“A fair point.” She favored him with a kind smile. “I wish you luck then,” Lani said sincerely.

“Thank you,” he smiled back warmly, mildly surprised at her easy acceptance. “In truth, I’ve enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?” The elven woman asked, peering at him curiously. 

“You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit,” Solas said brightly. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

“Indomitable focus?” Lani asked raising one eyebrow in a shrewd expression. A subtle smirk curling the corner of her mouth, eyes twinkling.

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated,” the elven man said lightly, his own lips curling. “I imagine that the sight would be… fascinating.” Lani could feel her cheeks flushing slightly at the way he looked at her though she did not mind. 

“You said you’d traveled to many different places?” she prompted, popping another bite in her mouth. “In the Fade, I mean.” 

The Tavern was slowly filling up around them as the residents of Haven awoke. Guards coming off shift, others starting. Villagers grabbing breakfast before another hard day’s work. Even Commander Cullen passed through, giving Lani and Solas a greeting wave before going about his tasks and seeing to his men, trading jokes and words of encouragement with a few as he passed. _He’s a fine commander,_ Lavellan thought, seeing how the soldiers perked up around him. _His men are lucky to have him. As is the Inquisition._

“This world, or its memory, is reflected in the Fade,” Solas said, once more capturing her complete attention. “Dream in ancient runes, you may see a city lost to history.” He gestured around them. “Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities, long picked dry by treasure seekers. The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the Veil that you could slip across with but a thought.” 

“Any place in particular?” 

“I dreamt at Ostagar.” His voice instantly distant and dreamlike, a storyteller weaving a tale. “I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Fereldan warriors. I saw Alistair and the Hero of Fereldan light the signal fire. And Logain’s infamous betrayal of Cailan’s forces,” he said voice deep and bright. 

“I’ve heard the stories,” Lani breathed excitedly, breakfast momentarily forgotten. “I would be interested to hear what it was really like.”

“That’s just it,” Solas replied shaking his head with a little smirk. “In the Fade, I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors. One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

“And you can’t tell which is real?”

“It is the Fade,” he said simply, smile bright. “They are all real.”

“Hmph. Interesting.” She looked back down at her bowl. “Have you always traveled and studied alone?” she asked not meeting his eyes, dabbing at her breakfast with a torn smidgen of bread crust. 

“Not at all. I have built many lasting friendships,” the elven man said. “Spirits of Wisdom, processed of ancient knowledge happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of Purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.” Lani smiled at the mental image of a glowing wisp whizzing eagerly about his bald pate but it faded quickly. 

“Wisdom? Purpose? I don’t know of any spirits by those names,” Lani said honestly and a little sadly. 

“They rarely seek this world,” Solas explained gently. “When they do their natures do not often survives exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted to Pride and Desire. 

“You’re saying you became friends with pride and desire demons?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicious confusion. 

“They were not demons for me,” he said evenly. 

“Meaning?” She was hesitant, questioning and wary. 

“The Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a wisdom spirit to be a pride demon- it will adapt. If your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends.” Her emerald eyes went wide with wonder.

“I am impressed that you can become friends with spirits.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential,” Solas encouraged. Lavellan’s eyes flashed brightly. “It is just that few ever try,” he said with a shrug a shoulder. “My friends comforted me in grief. Shared my joy. Yet, as they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.” His voice became a bitter snarl. “Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?” 

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas,” Lani all but purred, setting her spoon in her now empty wooden bowl.  “I try,” he acknowledged, mildly surprised by her tone. “And that isn’t quite an answer,” he pointed out.

“I look forward to helping you make new friends,” she replied mischievously.

“That should be… well…” His ears flushed, taken aback by her forwardness. 

“That isn’t quite an answer either,” she smirked, getting up to take her bowl to a tavern maid. “We’ll talk later,” she winked. Solas was left sitting somewhat dumbstruck and befuddled as the dalish woman walked away. 

As she made to push through the door, Lani turned back to him. “Solas. About your spirit friends.”

“Hmm?”

“I had never thought about it that way. I can see your point.”

“I… Thank you, Lavellan. Few are willing to even entertain such a notion.”

“Seems to me, they are people just the same and unique as any other.” And with that and the flash of a smile, she was gone. 

“Goodbye,” Solas said quietly, though she was long out of ear shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vallen= a combination of the word 'Vallem" which means 'to bid' (as in 'I bid you' 'you bid me') and 'Len' which means child.


	14. Calling All Clerics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny chapter in which the decision is made to call the remaining Chantry clerics together for a chat.

“Having the Herald address the Clerics is not a terrible idea,” mused Josephine. 

The war council had gathered once more to discuss Mother Giselle’s plan. They had been over it in both previous sessions but had been unable to agree. Now the five of them- the Seeker, the Spymaster, the Commander, the Ambassador, and the Herald- stood around the immense rough cut slab of a tree they used as a table bickering over their next move. Lavellan merely listened this time. Leaned against one of the nearby bookshelves, arms crossed over her chest, she thought- pondering all possible angles.

“You can’t be serious,” Cullen snorted disdainfully.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” the Ambassador insisted. “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.” 

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald,” Leliana asked angrily, gesturing exasperatedly at Lani. 

“Let’s ask her,” Josie said with forced lightness turning to the brooding elf. Lani stared hard at the surface of the war table though not really seeing it.

“You want me to walk into a pit of vipers and you ask me _that?”_ the elf said through clenched teeth. She had known she would likely need to talk to the Clerics in the capital, still it bothered her how frankly those gathered here spoke of a situation that was likely to get her killed or arrested. None of them would be risking as much as she was personally given that many in Val Royeaux thought her the murderer of the Divine. On top of that she was dalish- which was cause enough for a death sentence in many parts of the world and especially in Orlais- _and_ she denounced by the Chantry. And yet this was the first time her advisors had actually asked her opinion on the topic. 

“They’re not vipers just because they like to hiss,” chided the Ambassador, though her words were gentle. 

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words, Josie,” Leliana countered coming to Lani’s defense. “She has every right to be concerned. An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.” 

“I will go with her,” said Cassandra stepping forward and giving the Herald a reassuring glance before eyeing each advisor in turn. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names. Use them.”

“But why?” The spymaster complained. “This is nothing but a…”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra asked, raising her arms and letting them fall in agitation. “Right now we can’t approach _anyone_ for help with the Breach.” She shook her head in defeated frustration. Lavellan moved from her position against the bookshelf and came to stand beside the Seeker, addressing the advisors as a whole.

“Use what influence we have to call the clerics together,” she said firmly, deciding for them. “Given their feelings about me, it likely won’t take long for them to gather. Even if they mean it to be lynching. Once they are ready, we will see this through.” The elf looked at Cassandra, her head bowing a faction of an inch to the warrior. “Together.”


	15. A Moment Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from home and a talk with the Ambassador leave Lavellan feeling homesick and full of dread.

Sitting on a chair in a quiet corner of the Chantry, Lani Lavellan reread, for what was surely the tenth time, the letter Leliana had given her after the war council.

 

_Da’len,_

_Andaran Atish’an. It does my heart well to hear that you are safe. Our clan was visited by members of the Inquisition who spoke persuasively of the good work you are doing, as well as the fairness with which our kind have been treated by the Inquisition itself._  
_You know that Clan Lavellan has little by way of gold, but I gave the messengers some of our healing herbs, as Sylaise blessed us with abundance in our recent foraging._  
_We would be a distraction if we came to the Inquisition itself, our hunters auguring with the humans as they so easily do. Nevertheless, if you need aid, send word, and we are with you._

_Dareth Shiral,_  
_Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

 

Lani drew in a deep shaky breath, glad for the shadows the flickering candles left in their wake. 

It was just like the Keeper to share what little the clan had. She was such a giving, charitable woman. It was just like her to put the needs of the world before the needs of her clan. And wants of Lani. The Herald’s heart ached to know they would not be joining her at Haven. At least here she could keep an eye on them. Protect them. Be with them. And yet, that was exactly why Deshanna was staying away. 

_“We would be a distraction…”_ The elven First’s eyes stung, the words before her blurring but she did not allow her emotions to take control. Did not allow the tears to fall. They would help no one. The sooner she sealed the Breach, the better for everyone. 

Wiping her dampened eyes and schooling her expression, the elf rose, leaving the shadows behind her as she made for the door to the world beyond the Chantry. 

“Herald, if you have a moment?” Josephine called from behind her. Lani turned, a pleasant if fake smile snapping to her features.

“Did you need something, Ambassador?” She asked politely.

“Yes. Well not precisely but…Care to join me in my office?”

“Of course.” The human woman closed the door behind them as they entered, the heavy door making a soft clicking sound as it shut. Moving to take her seat behind her writing desk, Josephine motioned to the empty chair in front of it, offering it to Lavellan. “I should like to know if anyone here has treated you unkindly, Herald- for being an elf,” the ambassador asked awkwardly. 

“If they are, they are being sneaky,” Lani said, lowering herself into the offered chair. “But I can deal with a few whispers and sideways looks.” Josephine made a tsking sound, shaking her head.

“I shall speak with the staff regarding such conduct,” the Antivan woman said gravely. “If we are to convince the world that Andraste’s Herald is an elf, the Inquisition must give you its utmost support. Stories of ‘wild dalish elves’ have grown even more outrageous as people learn of you.”

“How have the rumors gotten worse?” the elven mage asked eyes narrowing in wary concern.

“I would prefer not to repeat them.” Josephine said, a note of distaste in her voice.

“Give me _something,”_ Lani implored. The ambassador sighed, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she spoke.

“Stealing children. Selling peasants to slavers. Burning down villages. Using infants for blood magic,” she drawled. “Those are the stories about your fellow dalish. I won’t repeat what they’ve said about _you_.” Lani’s shook her head in understanding, fingers kneading her brows. 

“Isn’t the magic just as much a problem as my ears?” Looking up at the Ambassador once more she said, “I am rather a two for one special when it comes to things the common folk are not a fan of.” Josephine let out a grim chuckle. 

“It… depends which way the wind is blowing,” she said irritably. “Magic is meant to serve man, the Chant teaches. Close the Breach and we can claim that is why Andraste chose you. Hopefully, it will be enough to replace this gossip about the dalish.” Lani frowned. 

“The humans telling those tales are the first to take a knife to someone with pointed ears,” she grimace. “My clan has defended ourselves against them more times than I care to count.”

“Really?” The ambassador asked surprised and horrified. “I… had no idea. I will do what I can to end this slander, Herald,” she said earnestly. “It may help if I knew more about how you and your clan lived.” The elf’s smile was somewhat bittersweet.

“We are not so different from anyone else, Ambassador. Save, of course, that we have no land to call our own.” Lavellan let out a heavy sigh. “But wandering is not so bad. There are many simple pleasures to that life.” A slight smile graced her blush wine colored lips. “The best part was when the aravel, our wagons, turned from the plains to the woods,” Lani said wistfully, savoring the memory. “I used to spend weeks exploring the forest. The trees, the animals, the waterfalls. Ancient ruins lost for ages. It was heaven to me.” 

“You make it sound idyllic.” The Ambassador smiled. “Haven is so far away from home. You must miss the people of your clan,” she said compassionately.

“I do,” Lani conceded heavily. She liked Josephine. The woman was considerate, kind, and genuinely interested in those around her. The curiosity she showed for Lavellan and her clan seemed pure in intent. She was a woman who acknowledged her limited understand and sought to expand it. Lani admired that about her. “All my friends are there. My family. Before I came to the Conclave, the clan was my whole world. I’d like to see them again after everything is done.”

“I pray you get the chance,” Josie said with a small hopeful smile. “Whether you’re with them or not, being the Clan of the Herald of Andraste will mark them in history.” It was meant as a comfort though it had quite opposite effect. 

“I worry about that,” Lani said sourly. “Elves and fame tend to go poorly together. I hope my clan doesn’t suffer for it.”

“I see.” The ambassador frowned, considering. “We can make inquires as to how they fair if it worries you,” she offered. “Perhaps the Inquisition could lend a hand.” Lani nodded gratefully, giving the Ambassador a worn smile before politely excusing herself. 

Lavellan walked through the Chantry doors, utterly lost in her own world. The fingers of her marked hand curled tightly around the pale stone hanging around her neck, bleeding power into it until it glowed a brilliant amethyst color. The letter gripped in her other hand. She walked through the little village, small plumes of snow wafting up from her feet as she went, breath frosting into clouds before her. Villagers shouted greetings to her as she passed though she did not answer. 

Solas saw her from where he stood admiring the view of the mountains. Brows furrowing as he saw the distant distracted expression she wore. He considered calling out to her but decided against it. He did not wish to disturb what were clearly deep and troubled thoughts. He doubted they were close enough for her to confide in him just yet, but if they were she would surely do so in her own time. Varric, however, did call out to the Herald. But she did not stop, nor even slow, waving a vague gesture of greeting or dismissal as she passed. The dwarf thought he heard her mumble something about a nap.

Lani walked down the narrow side road to her cabin. Closing and locking the door behind her as she entered. Sitting on the edge of her bed, the elven First and now Herald of an absent god buried her face in her hands breathing heavily. She could see the light of the blasted mark through the skin of her closed eyelid. Her palms becoming damp where they met her lashes.

It was all just too much. Everything moving both too quickly and too slowly. All of it getting so wildly out of hand. It was one thing for the world to throw her curl ball after curve ball. Quite another for those hits to ripple out affecting the ones she loved. It was all too horrifically familiar and her stomach turned and heaved at the thought, making her feel ill. 

The small cat who had claimed her hopped onto the bed beside her, pawing gently at her thigh, waiting for her to lower her arm and allow him access to her lap. She did so. He purred soothingly, licking the salt water from her cheeks before resting his furry forehead against her nose.  
“Thank you, Valen” she said quietly to him, voice rough around the edges. She stroked his short fur. If he minded her dampened hand he did not show it, leaning into her touch. 

She had packing to do seeing as they were leaving for Val Royeaux come morning. At least, that would provide her an excuse for blocking out the world for the next few hours. The trip there would take longer than the time needed for the clerics to gather. She had already spoken to her advisors. Varric, Solas, and Cassandra could wait. They would have more than enough time to talk with her on the road. 

Lani lifted the cat from her lap, got up, double checked the bolts on the door, and closed and latched the shutters. She stripped off the warm outer robes she had been wearing, hanging them neatly over the back of a chair and blew out the candle on her desk. Then she dropped to all fours, barely noticing the shift as it happened. Large clawed paws silent on the hard packed floor as the great wolf crossed the little room, gently dragged the blankets back with sharply curved and pointed teeth, leapt onto the bed, and pulled the covers back over herself, heaving a heavy sigh and blocking out the world. Her tiny foundling climbed atop her curled form, completely unfazed by the shift in her appearance, and began fluffing the blankets over her shoulder with dainty paws before, he too, curled up and sighed. 

 

Even as evening fell, she did not reappear. Concern for her among her traveling companions grew until Cassandra was threatening to break down her door after she missed dinner. 

“That is unnecessary, Seeker,” Solas soothed. “I am sure your Herald merely wishes a night of peace and solitude to sort her thoughts before the journey to Val Royeaux. Much has happened of late, has it not?”

“I suppose you are right,” the warrior conceded with a sigh, though she still cast the occasional worried glance in the direction of Lani’s hut. “I’ll grant that she has much on her mind.”

“All the staring eyes and muttered whispers, probably don’t help,” grumbled Varric dryly. “Vixen can’t go three steps without someone talking to her, shouting at her, pleading for her to kiss their baby, or shoo their children away from her. And it’s not like this is a big place, Seeker.”

“At times, it _can_ get annoying just walking next to her,” Cassandra admitted.

“Maker’s plaid-weave undies, Seeker. Imagine how she feels.” The warrior’s lips pursed at the curse but she let it pass. 

“To be suddenly both glorified and reviled…” The elf said solemnly.

“It’s got to be one hell of a shock to the system for one not used to it,” Varric sighed. 

“I’d say she has earned her space,” Solas said politely but firmly. “If she does not reappear by breakfast tomorrow morning, we will send someone to check on her. Until then, we should let her have her privacy. She has had little enough of it.” The Seeker frowned but nodded, brow still furrowed with concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'len= child or little child  
> Andaran atish'an = "Enter this place in peace" - formal greeting  
> Dareth shiral = safe journey


	16. Depends One The Quality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lani listens in to a camp fire conversation between Solas and Varric.

“Is is true the entire dwarven economy relies upon lyrium?” Solas asked Varric as the men sat beside the camp fire their first night on the road to Val Royeaux. Cassandra had long ago fallen asleep. Her tell tale rhythmic snort emanating from her darken tent.

Lavellan had retired to her own tent a while before but couldn’t sleep. Granted her retreat had been more in a want to not have conversation than in actual exhaustion. Now she lay on her back with one hand behind her head, listening to the men talk and fiddling with the charms of her necklace.

“Mostly.” A shrug evident in the dwarf’s tone. “We’ve got the nug market cornered as well.”

“And the dwarves of Orzammar have never studied lyrium?”

“If they have they certainly haven’t shared anything up here,” Varric said. “Why?”

“It is the source of all magic,” Solas replied as if the answer was obvious. “Save that which mages bring themselves. Dwarves alone have the ability to mine it safely. I simply wondered if they had sought to learn more.” The elven woman cocked her head to one side as she listened. She had spoken enough with her fellow elven apostate to recognize when he was leading a conversation to a point or a question. Her brows lowered as she concentrated. 

“The folks back in Orzammar don’t care much for anything but tradition,” the dwarf snarked not bothering to find his contempt. Lani huffed a snort. She understood that particular brand of frustration all too well. Sometimes tradition became the noose that hung you rather than the rope that saved you. There were more than enough dalish tribes to use as examples of that. 

“Do you ever miss life beneath the earth?” Solas asked quietly. “The Call of the Stone?”

“Nah,” Varric replied. “Whatever the ‘Stone’ - capital S- is, was gone by the time my parents had me.” 

“But,” the elf insisted, “Do you miss it?”

“How can I miss what I never had?” Lani could hear the dwarf’s irritation growing. “But say I did have that sense, that connection to the Stone. What would it cost me? Would I loose my friends up here? Would I stop telling stories? I like who I am.,” he said firmly. “If I want to hear songs I’ll go to the tavern.”

“You are wiser than most,” Solas conceded, a slight smile tinged in sadness in his words. “Still, I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing.”

“Oh? What’s so confusing about endless darkspawn?” Lani was with Varric on that one. Hordes of darkspawn seemed as good a reason as any to fall back and regroup. Granted the regrouping bit hadn’t worked so well, but still.

“A great deal,” Solas said almost brightly.“Although that is a different matter.” The dalish woman frowned. She wondered what he meant by that. “Dwarves control the flow of lyrium. They could tighten their grip on it.”

“It’s hard to get the attention of the humans when the darkspawn aren’t up here messing with their stuff.” _It’s hard to get the humans to to help with anything if it isn’t right at their feet or directly involves them,_ thought the elven woman. _But then humans wanted everyone and their brother to run to their aid at the drop of a staff._

“You’re active in the Carta,” Solas insisted. “You know your people could tug the purse strings. You could claim sovereign land on the surface. Or demand help restoring the dwarven kingdom. But you don’t.” He sounded perplexed, frustrated.

“You’re not saying anything I haven’t said myself, Chuckles,” Varric sighed. “Orzammar is what it is.” 

“Is there at least a movement to unite Orzammar and Kal-Shorak?” The elven man asked in exasperation. 

“What is it with you, Chuckles?” Varric shot back, vexed. “Why do you care so much about the dwarves?”

“Once, in the Fade,” the elf said quietly, “I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left.” His voice changed, agitation poking at the edges. “He could have stuck out on his own. To find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent everyday catching fish in a little boat. Every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.”   
“Heh,” snorted Varric with a shrug, “I can think of worse lives.” 

“How can you be happy surrendering?” Solas demanded. “Knowing it will all end with you? How can you not fight?”

“I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice,” Varric mused. Lani smirked knowingly. 

She could see both sides. The need to strive, to fight for the life and world you want not just the one given to you. But she also understood that sometimes such things were not meant to be no matter how hard fought. It was a painful lesson to learn. But meaning could be found even in the darkest of times. You simply had to keep going. One foot in front of the other. Somethings that simple act alone, that little defiance, was winning in and of itself. 

“So it seems,” the elf said non-plussed. After a time Solas spoke again and Lani could hear the regret in it. She felt sure he was shaking his head and a check of his shadow on the tent wall showed she was right. “I am sorry to have bothered you with my questions about your people, Varric. I see so much of this world in dreams. Humans. My own people. Even qunari. Dwarves alone were lost to me. Save scattered fragments of memory where some spirit cared to watch. Now I know why I see so little.” 

“And why is that?” _He can’t walk your histories, your memories, and your dreams like he does the others,_ Lani thought. _You don’t dream. Dwarves don’t dream. And so the Fade doesn’t record them. Not like it does with the rest of us at least._

“Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero laying in a pool of blood. Undirected,” the elven man said solemnly. “Whatever skill at arms it had, gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream.” 

Lani closed her eyes at his description. She could not walk her dreams as Solas did, not with his level of control- though she had been trying hard to improve upon that of late- still the thought of never being able to dream at all saddened her. There were such wonders to be found in the Fade. Wonders Varric and his kind could never hope to see. 

“Hm,” the dwarf hummed thoughtful. “I’d avoid mentioning that to any Carta, Chuckles. They might not take it the right way.” Varric sighed heavily. “What is it with you and the doom stuff anyway?” he asked, tone shifting. “Are you always this cheery or is the hole in the sky getting to you?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Solas said defensively. 

“All the fallen empire crap you go on about,” the storyteller grumbled. “What’s so great about empires anyway? So we lost the Deep Roads and Orzammar is too proud to ask for help. So what? We’re not Orzammar. And we’re not our empire.” It was a fair point. An Empire was defined by its people but its people not by their empire. Or were they? The more she thought on it, the more unclear it became. “There are tens of thousands of us living up here in the sunlight now. And it’s not that bad. Life goes on. It’s just different than it used to be.” 

“And _you_ have no concept of what that difference cost you,” the elf hissed.

“Oh I know what it didn’t cost me,” Varric retorted. “I’m still here. Even after all those thaigs fell.” 

“You truly are content to sit in the sun?” Solas asked incredulously. “Never wondering what you could have been? Never fighting back?”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Chuckles,” the dwarf said no doubt shaking his head. “This is fighting back.” 

“How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?” the elven man asked disbelieving. 

“In that story of yours: the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?” 

“Yes,” Solas said tentatively. 

“But he went on living,” Varric said brightly. “He lost everyone but he still got up every morning. He made a life. Even if it was alone. That’s the world.” Lani could make out his silhouette against the wall of her tent. His arms held out to his sides, palms up as if displaying the forest around the camp. “Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you’ve got, it takes and it’s gone forever.” The elven woman flinched. His words hitting too close to home for her comfort. An old deep pain throbbed, a child’s pain. She rolled on her side willing the surge away as best she could. “The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. _He_ kept going. That’s as close to beating the world as anyone gets.” 

“Amen,” Lani breathed to herself. 

“Well said,” the elven man nodded. “Perhaps I was mistaken.” 

“Perhaps you were,” Varric said. A gentle smile in his words. 

Lavellan curled more tightly upon herself, moonstone and shell clutched in her glowing hand as if clinging to a life line. She heaved a heavy sigh and closed her eyes.

 

Solas entered the tent some time later. 

As he lay on his back, drifting off to the gentle the breeze outside, he became aware of a warm light glowing through his eyelids. It grew steadily brighter. Turning his head to the side, he opened one bleary eye. 

The small stone resting in Lavellan’s slightly open palm shone a brilliant peach in the dark tent. She hummed quietly in her sleep, fingers closing protectively around the stone. No doubt an instinctually reaction to the heat it produced when in use. Her cheek and nose nuzzled gently against her fingers before she stilled once again with a quiet sigh. 

Solas smiled, gentle and sad. Aside from the obvious, they all had their reasons for being there, for joining the Inquisition, for fighting, for walking on. Reasons uniquely their own. Precious and personal. Battles they had still to fight. People to protect. Values to uphold. He would do well to remember that.

The stone’s light slowly faded into the night, carrying him away with it. The Fade’s familiar comfort beckoning him.


	17. Far From Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lani Lavellan opens up about the fears that have been eating away at her. At least, a little.

Lani had been running around Thedas with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas for some time now. She liked them well enough and they worked well together, though she missed her people. Missed ‘belonging’ somewhere, but there was comfort in the fact that their banter had become less formal, more genuinely curious rather than interrogatory. Playful at times even. But she often found herself lost in thoughts of home and family. Ellana would know what to say to lift her spirits and Lani sorely wished she could ask for Keeper Deshanna’s council. She felt very much lost and alone in this strange new world she was suddenly at the center of, so much resting on her narrow shoulders.

The group had stopped for lunch in a small glade just off the road on their way to the Orlesian capital. Lani sat on a fallen log at the edge of their fire facing away from it and the others, not particularly hungry nor wanting to converse. There she immersed herself in the sights and sounds of the forest around her. 

A gentle breeze gusted down from the mountains behind them, stirring the tree tops. Branches swayed and shifted against one another, rustling and creaking. Song birds chirped and sang, darting this way and that through the pines and brambles. She spotted a beautiful elk silhouetted in a ray of light in distance, great antlers sweeping low over its back as it lifted its head to call out to the rest of the unseen herd. 

Lavellan closed her eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, she soaked up the scents on the air. Smoke from the cooking fire, roasting nug they’d caught earlier, and sweat from the day’s exertion filled her nostrils. Farther out she could pick up the musk of damp moss, the warm spicy fragrance of cedars, the sweetness of wild grasses. It stilled her spirit to focus on something other than the mark, war, death, chaos, and politics, even if it did make her homesickness throb. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost believe she was back in the Free Marches. Almost. 

A gentle hand on her shoulder drew her attention. 

“Hey, Vixen. Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all, Varric,” she said looking up. “Do you need something?”

“Nah. You’re just looking rather less feisty that usual. Have been since before we left Haven,” he said quietly. “Figured you could use a friend. Someone to talk to. Or not. I can just sit here being handsome if you prefer.” Lani smiled weakly, thankful for the gesture. 

“That obvious, huh?” she asked. Varric shrugged, taking a seat.

“Compared to Chuckles you’re a ray of sunshine,” he said hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the other elf. “But in this line of work, even the brightest suns gets covered by clouds from time to time. This just seems to be one of those times.” Lani nodded conceding. 

“A lot has changed recently,” she said voice as heavy as she felt. 

“I don’t imagine being blown up, falling out of the Fade, and being paraded about as a prophet and only savior of the world was quite in your plans.” Lani let out a low grim chuckle shaking her head.

“Definitely not.” 

She looked down at her hands, her right thumb rubbing the marred palm of her left hand, green light dancing off the hammered silver band of one of her rings.

“I expected to be back with my clan by now,” she breathed. “Or at least on the way. I spent so long building a home with them, a life, a future, a family, and now…” She shook her head, hair stirring in the breeze. “I was to become their Keeper some day. To take over as protector and guide, warrior and leader, teacher and elder…” The branches on her brows seemed to lace together as she frowned fiercely at the green light flickering under her skin.

“You miss them?” Varric suggested. Lani nodded eyes closing thoughtfully.

“Deeply. And I worry,” the dalish elf looked up at the road to Val Royeaux, anxiety forming a knot in her stomach. “The dalish aren’t exactly loved across Thedas. And my Keeper has made it clear she believes they would only be a distraction for me if they joined the Inquisition.” The Herald rubbed at her temples. “Clan Lavellan has never done anything to earn the distrust of the cities we pass but… I worry something will happen to the ones I love while I’m out here trying to protect the world. Especially now that my name, my clan name, is being whispered in every shadow. And not just by people that like me…” Varric squeezed her shoulder hard, stopping her. Lani turned large dispirited eyes on the dwarf.

“Vixen… I don’t claim to know much about the elves,” he started. “I’ve only run with a couple in my time and I wouldn’t say any of them were particularly good examples. But I’d bet your clan would want you here. They need you here as much as we do. There won’t be much world left for anyone if it all gets sucked into the sky.” 

“You sound like my sister,” Lani said with a small sad smile. She paused, considering. “Come to think of it, you’d probably like each other a great deal.”

“Want can I say,” the man grinned, “you surround yourself with wise sages.” He glanced over his shoulder at the others. “Well mostly. You got me at least.” Lani laughed, actually laughed. “There’s that sunlight poking through.” 

“I… I know those things, Varric,” she said shaking her head, hands open in surrender. “My Keeper actually told me something near identical when I wrote to her. Told me the needs of all Thedas were more important than the needs of one lowly clan no matter how personally responsible I feel for them. That the Breach effects everyone including them and so my place is here with the Inquisition. But I am anxious. They are an easy target for someone wanting to make a point.” 

The two travelers sat in silence for a thoughtful moment pondering what the elf had just said. 

“Are human-elf relations really that bad?” Varric asked pensively. Lani rubbed her face, groaning. 

“I wish I could say no. _Creators,_ I wish I could say no,” she breathed. “It isn’t all bad. Like I said, Clan Lavellan usually tries to stay out of trouble and respects the lands we pass through. Hell, we trade well with several cities and estates. But to a great many humans a knife-ear is just knife-ear. Just as a shem is just a shem to many dalish. Worse yet a flat-ear a flat-ear, because what my people really need right now is to divide themselves further.” She snarled darkly, gesturing in defeat. “It’s not like I can even blame any of them their anger. With elven homeland and history stolen time and again, the fear mongering tales the Chantry tells, and centuries of strife -not to mention slavery- building animosity on both sides, it is no surprise tensions boil over in mindless blood shed. And here I am, a _dalish elf_ with people claiming I’m the _Herald of Andraste!”_ She sighed deeply rubbing at her face again with both hands. Frustration and helplessness eating at her. “That’s sure to anger a lot of people on both sides. I just worry the good folk caught in the middle may be my own and I won’t be there to help them,” she growled. _This time,_ she added in her head. “I don’t know what I would do without them.” she breathed quietly. “Who I would become…” She trailed off feeling hollow. 

“Damn, Vixen,” Varric said softly. “And here I thought the world was messed up enough as it was.” He made to turn to her. Stopped. Hesitated before seeming to make up his mind and shifted to face her completely, arms out stretched and inviting. “I’m not sure if we’re close enough to be called friends yet but all the same, you look like you could use a hug.” She accepted gratefully. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly. He rubbed her back reassuringly. 

“I do so hope to be considered your friend, Varric,” she whispered. “I have so very few at the moment and I’m not entirely convinced Cassandra won’t still kill me at some point.” Varric withdrew enough to favor her with a warm smile. 

“Friends, then,” he said. “And don’t worry about Cassandra. I don’t think anyone is ever completely sure they wouldn’t be offed by her. It’s part of her…,” he thought for a moment. “Charm?” 

“I guess your right,” the elven woman chuckled. “She can be a bit intense.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he grumbled. “Cheer up, Vixen. Maybe this will be over soon and you can get back to your clan and doing whatever it is elves do.” She rolled her eyes at him. “What? It could happen.” One slender brow lifted. “Alright so I don’t believe that crap either. Still a dwarf can dream, can’t he?” She just stared at him. “Andraste’s knickers! It’s a figure of speech!” She laughed, nudging him in the shoulder with her own.

“I guess there is no harm hoping.” Lani looked up at the glowing hole in the sky. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”


	18. Clerics and Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents of the Inquisition reach Val Royeaux and confront not only the Chantry but the Templar Order and Lord Seeker as well. More questions are raised than answered.

The little group crossed the causeway that led to the gates of Val Royeaux. Lani Lavellan was feeling very out of place, indeed. It was bad enough she was an elf but the closer they got to the city the more self-consciously aware she became of her vallaslin, ears, staff, and, most of all, her glowing left hand. She was thankful for her relative plain robes and armor. At least they would help her blend in a bit.

An Orlesian couple was lazily strolling toward them, enjoying the fresh breezes off the mirrored lake the city floated upon on what would have otherwise been a lovely day. When the woman caught sight of the travelers, Lani in particular, she gasped and stumbled backward a pace before grabbing the arm of her companion and fleeing. _Well that’s not a good sign,_ thought the marked elf nervously.

“Seeker, I think they know we’re here,” Varric said softly, voice anxious, eyes darting around them. 

“You’re skills of observation never fall to impress me, Varric,” Cassandra said dryly, but Lani could see how the warrior’s shoulders had tightened, the fingers of her sword hand twitching. She was going to comment on it when a short hooded woman came running up to them. The emblem of Inquisition affixed to her shoulder.

“My lady Herald,” she said bowing. 

“Seriously. Stop it with the bowing,” said Lavellan testily under her breath looking around quickly. She stuck out enough without people bowing to her so publicly.

“You’re one of Leliana’s people,” said Cassandra quickly eyeing the clasp over the woman’s collar bone. “What have you found?”

“The Chantry Mothers await you, but… so do a great many Templars.” 

“Fantastic,” the dalish woman grumbled. 

“There are templars here?” The Seeker asked alarmed. The rogue nodded vigorously. 

“People seem to think the templars will protect them from… from the Inquisition,” she said hesitantly as if anxious about being overheard in the all but deserted city entrance. “They are gathering on the other side of the market. I think that is where the templars intend to meet you.”

“They wish to protect the people from us!” Snarled Cassandra in disgusted surprise. 

“Protect them from the blasphemous ‘Herald of Andraste,’ I’d say,” said Lani, darkly.

“Surely they can not think such a thing!” the spy proclaimed in protest. Lani smiled slightly at the young woman’s indignation on her behalf.

“Why not?” Solas replied, eyebrow quirking. “They wouldn’t be the only ones.” 

“We knew something like this might happen,” agreed the elven woman. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“Only one thing to do then,” sighed Cassandra, rolling a shoulder, preparing herself for whatever may come, and walking slowing but steadily toward the city gates. Fingers twitching a few inches away from the hilt of her sword.

“You think the Order has returned to the fold, maybe,” asked Varric keeping pace. “To deal with us upstarts?”

“I know Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra said vehemently. “I can’t imagine him coming to the Chantry’s defense. Not after all that occurred.” 

“So the potential for trouble has increased twofold,” Lani sighed nodding her head. 

“Perhaps,” Cassandra agreed grudgingly. She turned once more to the young spy. “Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are… delayed.”

“As you say, My Lady,” said the agent. She scurried off.

“I love how you say ‘delayed,’” Varric glowered, “when what you really mean is ‘thrown in prison’ or ‘killed.’” 

“And here I thought things were getting too quiet,” said Lani. “Silly me.” 

 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” Revered Mother Hevara shouted to the crowded market around her as Lani and her companions approached. “Together we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery.” Her eyes locked on the dalish elf with the glowing hand. “You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more. Behold! The so called ‘Herald of Andraste’ claiming to rise where our Beloved fell.” She pointed accusingly at Lani, the eyes of the crowd following her direction. Grasps and cries going up around them. Lani stared straight ahead at the cleric, unflinching, head high. “We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no _elf_ in our hour of need!” All around her, she heard whispers and jeers.

“Bloody knife-ear.”

“Savages. The lot of them.”

“Those hideous tattoos. The Marker pick her? An elf? Laughable.” The corner of Lani’s nose and lip twitched in the faintest of snarls.

“Filthy scum.”

“We should cut her throat now.” 

“It’s better than her deserves.”

“I make no such claim!” Lani shouted at the Revered Mother, voice defiant and proud, letting it carry to all the gathered clerics and city folk as if she had not heard them. She refused feel any shame for who and want she was. She had not asked for any of this. The crowd fell instantly silent around her, mutters dying in their throats. “I wasn’t sent here by Andraste or the Maker! I am simply trying to close the Breach!” she continued. “It threatens us _all!”_

“It’s true!” Cassandra said stepping up beside Lavellan. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!” 

Templars began to march into the market from one of the narrow side streets. Ranks and ranks of them. Boots thudding in eery synchronization. Lani’s stomach sank. While she was sure she had paled a few shades at the sight of the soldiers, she kept her fear from showing on her face. 

“It is already too late!” The Revered Mother spat at them, hand outstretched toward the incoming troops. 

Lani’s chest tightened at the way the men looked at her. Their sneering leader marched onto the platform on which the clerics stood. 

“The templars have returned to the Chantry!” Mother Hevara was shouting. “They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!” The cleric declared in triumph. 

But as the Lord Seeker passed her, his scribe struck her hard in the back of the head and she fell with a cry. The gathered crowd gasped in bewilderment.

“Still yourself!” The Lord Seeker rumbled, taking a shocked templar guard by the breast plate and straightening him before the man could bend to help the fallen woman. “She is beneath us.” His words were meant to comfort the soldier but they only seemed to unsettle him further. 

“How dare you!” Lani barked taking a step forward, her fear having turned to rage. She did not like the Revered Mother much at the moment but to strike her down like that? It made the elf’s pulse sing in her ears, her vision narrow. “What is the meaning of this?” 

“Their claim to authority is an insult!” The Lord Seeker spat turning to her, disdain written across his pale waxy features, dark hair slicked back and bound in a greasy ponytail. “Much like your own!” 

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra began, approaching him even as she appealed to him, “it is imperative that we speak with…”

“You will not address _me_ ,” he growled, voice low and threatening. Cassandra stopped short, eyes going wide in shock. 

“Lord Seeker?” She asked, brows knitting in confusion. 

“Creating a heretically movement,” he said contemptuously. “Raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed.” He shook his head as he stared her down, face a mask of utter disgust. “You should all be ashamed!” He shouted at the gathered crowd. “The templars failed _no one_ when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. _You_ are the ones who have failed. _You_ who leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine!”_

“If you’re not here to help the Chantry,” Lani bristled, “then you just came to make speeches!”

“I came to see what frightens old women so. And to laugh,” Lucius mocked. 

“But Lord Seeker, what if she really was sent by the Maker?” It was the young man who Lucius had spoken to earlier. “What if…”

“You are called to a higher purpose,” said the Lord Seeker’s scribe. “Do not question.” The young soldier fell quiet. Lines of worry and doubt creased his dark skin as he glanced from the Seeker to Lavellan and back again. Unconvinced and questioning.

“I will make the templar order a power that stands alone against the void,” Lucius declared to the crowded market. “ _We_ deserve recognition. Independence. You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition… less than nothing!” He turned to his men, saliva spraying as he shouted. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!” The templars immediately snapped back into order. Not a boot out of place as they stood ready in their crisp rows.

They marched from the city, feet beating out an ominous rhythm against the cobble stones, armor rattling and clanking. 

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” grumbled Varric. Lani only glared after the man, not trusting herself to speak. 

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“Do you know him well?” asked Solas, turning to look at her. 

“He took over the Seekers of Truth two years ago. After Lord Seeker Lambert’s death,” she said. “He was always a decent man. Never given to ambition and grandstanding.” She shook her head in disbelief. 

“That seems to have changed,” the dalish woman snarled under her breath.

“This is very bizarre,” Cassandra said anxiously. 

“Well it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting the templars to help us after all,” sighed Lani eyes following the path the soldiers had taken. 

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly,” cautioned Cassandra. “There must be those in the Order who see want he has become.” She shook her head in confused anger. “Either way, we should first return to Haven and inform the others. I’m sure Cullen, in particular, would want to know.” The Herald nodded, but instead of making for the city gate she moved toward the platform where the Revered Mother still lay sprawled on the ground.

“Here,” she said softly, getting a shoulder under the elderly woman’s arm, “let me help you.” 

“This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra,” the woman hissed as Lani lowered her into a chair. Solas formed a small ball of snow and wrapped it in cloth like an ice pack.

“We came here seeking only to speak with the Mothers,” Cassandra said defiantly, chin raised. “This is not _our_ doing, but _your’s_.”  
“And you had no part in forcing our hand?” The Reverend Mother’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Do not delude yourself,” she chided waving the elves and their aid way harshly. Lani felt heat rising within her again but stepped back silently. She took the ice pack from Solas and tossed it lightly to one of the other clerics. If the woman did not wish her help, she would not force it upon her. “Now we are being shown up by our own templars! In front of everyone! And my fellow clerics are scattered to the wind along with their convictions.” She turned to face Lani in full, glaring at her as if the dalish elf was an affront to everything she held dear. In a way, Lani supposed she was. “Just tell me one thing,” she said through a tight jaw, nose wrinkled in distaste. “If you do not believe you are the Marker’s chosen, then what are you?” Lavellan met her gaze evenly.

“Someone who can help close the Breach,” she said simply and firmly. “And end this madness.” The Revered Mother’s features smoothed a little and she looked down, head bowed.

“That is… more comforting than you might imagine,” she said softly. “I suppose it is out of our hands now.” Looking up once more she said more firmly, “we shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come.”

“You’re obviously skeptical,” Lani said flatly, tilting her head to one side, “what do you believe I am?”

“Our Divine, Her Holiness, is dead. I have seen evidence for everything, except, what would comfort me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“For you to be true, a great many things must be false,” the Revered Mother said wearily. “And if you are false, a great many things must have failed. There is chaos ahead, whatever your intentions.”

“So what happens now?” Lani asked, perhaps a bit more harshly than she had intended. “Will the Chantry continue to denounce me?”

“We have already done so,” Mother Hevara chuckled grimly. “And what good has it done us? Now it falls on us to select a new Divine, if we can, and leave the next step to her.”

“Provided a selection is even possible?” glowered Cassandra. 

“Any Reverend Mother who could have followed Justinia died at the Conclave,” the cleric admitted. “What becomes of us, and your Inquisition, is in the Maker’s hands now.” There was silence for a time, no one quite knowing what to say next. 

Lavellan stared around the market, mind wandering as she retraced the steps the templars had taken out of the city. Their dimming ranks still visible but fading as they marched. She turned to the Revered Mother once more. 

“Where is the Lord Seeker taking the templars? Do you have any idea?”

“I can’t begin to guess the Lord Seeker’s mind,” she said, anger tinting the words. “He could not have abandoned his intended role more completely.”

“There must be sense to what we can’t see,” Cassandra said frustrated, seeker mind trying to work through the puzzle for any hints she may have missed. 

“Must there?” Solas asked simply. 

“Rebellion seems popular in certain quarters, doesn’t it Seeker,” the Revered Mother pointed out not overly unkindly. “Is crafting the templars into a new power really any worse than declaring a viral to the Chantry itself?” Cassandra’s wince was barely perceivable but there all the same.

“What were you hoping the Lord Seeker would do exactly?” Varric asked the cleric. 

“Put aside his war against the mages and find common purpose in something much more dire,” she said bitterly. “Obviously, he has other plans. With the Knights-Vigilant slain at the Conclave, there is nothing more we can do.”

“Perhaps, we can do something,” said Cassandra gesturing to the Inquisition agents and their Herald. 

“I’d like to believe that, Seeker. I truly would,” Revered Mother Hevara said quietly. “I suppose we can expect renewed effort against the mages from him and yet more chaos.” A terrifying thought occurred to Lani. 

“How many templars turned on the Chantry exactly?” she asked, eyes narrowing in thought. Cassandra’s head whipped to look at her, brow furrowed in confusion then quiet horror as she saw where the elf was going with the question. 

“They rebelled across Thedas,” The Revered Mother said weakly. “A few remain loyal but not enough to call them the Order.” She gestured with one papery hand at that city around them. “The White Spire here in the Capital was the largest garrison. Now it stands empty. How far has faith wained, I wonder. Perhaps more shall flock to the Lord Seeker’s banner now.” 

“All those templars,” breathed Varric.

“He has built himself an army,” Solas agreed grimly. “Or, perhaps, commandeered one.”

“How are people responding to all this?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“Despair. Fear.” The Revered Mother shrugged, features dark and sad. “They mourn Her Holiness.” She looked upward. “The people look to the sky and wonder how long before terror comes for us all. There must be a way through this. Is it you?” She gestured to Lani and the Inquisition agents. “The templars?” She motioned to the disappearing forms on the horizon. “The Maker’s will?” The Revered Mother glanced at the sky then downward at her feet shaking her head. “We abandoned our duties, we servants of the faith. Now we can only pray.”

“There has got to be a way to calm everything down and clean up this mess,” Lani hissed to herself, beginning to pace.

“I hope against hope that is the case,” the cleric said, voice heavy.

“It’s not too late,” Cassandra insisted. “The Chantry could still help us. Be a guiding force for the people.”

“If only that were true, Seeker.”

“What’s to stop you from trying?” asked Lani, stopping to look at the woman.

“We are not looking for a winning horse,” the elderly woman sighed, her true age showing as she favored Lani with a patient though weary expression. “We are simply trying to do the right thing.” The woman grimaced and the fellow cleric offered Solas’s ice to her, which she took gratefully this time. 

“Come on, Cassandra,” Lani said, eyes narrowed, taking the Seeker’s arm gently. “We should go. This woman has told us all she can. It’s been a long day and she should rest.” Cassandra’s jaw was a tight, as were her shoulders, but she allowed herself to be led away. 

 

They had only arrived in Val Royeaux that morning and Lani was loath to be on the road again so soon. “I feel as though I have spent more time on the road bouncing from place to place than stationary,” she grumbled.

“I thought you, of all people, would be used to that,” Solas replied with a little knowing smirk and lifted brow. She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips. 

“That is _different_ ,” she said with a pointed gesture of her hand.

“I see. My mistake then,” he hummed.

“Let’s at least get something proper to eat before leaving,” the dalish woman suggested. “A real lunch or something.”

“A meal would be a good idea,” conceded Cassandra.

“That’s assuming they will serve _us_ at all,” Solas pointed out, gesturing to Lavellan and himself. “We are in Orlais, are we not.” Lani glanced around, once more aware that they were two elves, a dwarf, and a very shouty woman in the middle of the Orlesian Empire. “And not exactly part of a well loved organization.”

“He has a point, Seeker,” rumbled Varric. “Solas they might just confuse for a servant. But Vixen? She’s a bit… _distinctive_.” Lavellan rubbed her tattooed brow with her glowing palm, letting out a low growling sigh. 

“Creators, I’m getting tired of this shit and we’ve barely even started,” she breathed.

“I will have _words_ with anyone who seeks to cause trouble simple because you two are elven,” Cassandra snarled. “We do not have time for such petty biases and now that it has been mentioned, I am hungry.”

“While I agree on the biases part, are threats really the best course of ac…” Solas trailed off at the scowl Cassandra gave him. “Ah. I see. Let me not stand in the way then.”   
They followed the Seeker as she stalked toward a cafe in a quiet shaded alcove, away from most prying eyes.   
Now that the worse of the day was over, she hoped at least, Lavellan took the time to marvel at the city around them. It was truly spectacular. Beautiful ivory buildings reached for the sapphire sky high above. Brightly colored banners and drapes adorned even the plainest of walls. Reflected sunlight from the surrounding watery basin danced on the walls of every side street. 

The elven woman wished she could explore the city, seek out its wonders, but was ever so painfully aware of the looks of those around her. Shop doors shuttering as they passed. Merchants turning abruptly from their direction to face away. Residents, shoppers, and passersby muttering, sneering, and pointing. They could not make her feel more unwanted if they tried. _An ugly stain on such a lovely city,_ she thought. 

“Um. Vixen,” Varric said nudging her hip with his elbow. “I think that messenger is trying to get your attention.” Sure enough, a young man in robes of one of the many Orlesian Houses- which one Lavellan couldn’t even begin to guess- was waving to the Herald. 

“Just a minute, Cass,” Lani said before breaking away from the group. The man greeted her politely and handed over a note with a short message from his mistress. Then he excused himself and strode away. 

 

_  
You are cordially invited to attend my salon held at the Chateau of Duke Bastien De Ghislain._

_Yours,_  
Vivienne De Fer  
First Enchanter of Montsimmard  
Enchanter to the Imperial Court 

 

“Huh,” Lani said upon reading the note. 

“What is it, Herald?” asked the Seeker. 

“It would seem I have been invited to the Salon of one Vivienne De Fer.” She looked at her companions, eye brows raising. “I forgot to pack a dress.”

 

They continued on their path toward the cafe when a arrow came whizzing out of nowhere, burying itself between the cobble stones not two meters from Lavellan’s feet. 

“What was that?” Cassandra jumped searching the rooftops, hand on her blade, ready to draw at the first sign of attack. 

“It… is a message,” said Solas, plucking the small slip of brilliantly red paper from the arrow’s shaft. “A rather odd message,” he amended. Lani took it from him. The script was scrawling, with doodles all over the edges of the page. 

“Keep an eye open for out of place red things,” the elven woman said tucking the note in her pocket. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. 

“And why is that?”

“Might be of some importance,” Lani shrugged. “Now. Food?”

 

Apart from some sideways looks and few knife-ear comments, their meal was relatively uneventfully. The Seeker was apparently scary enough to dissuade anything more aggressive and while the owner did not seem pleased to serve them he had thought it a better option than telling the sword wielding Right Hand of the fallen Divine “no.”

“It occurs to me I don’t actually know that much about you,” Cassandra said to the Herald as hot meals were placed in front of them. While Lani would put money on the fact someone had spit in her food, it was delicious all the same.

“What do you want to know?” Lani asked conversationally. 

“I’m… not sure,” the Seeker said tentatively. She thought for a moment before asking, “where are you from?”

“I thought you knew that?” The elf said with tilt of her head.

“I suppose I could ask Leliana,” Cassandra conceded. “She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I want to hear it from you.” Lani smiled in understanding. She was asking as a friend not as a Seeker or the Divine’s Right Hand. 

“My clan never stayed in one place for long, but we primarily roamed the Free Marches.”

“Oh?” the warrior said mildly taken aback. “I didn’t think your people roamed that far north. But clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I knew,” Varric said. “But no one ever listens to the dwarf.” Cassandra rolled her eyes but made no comment.

“I’m fairly sure one can find dalish elves just about anywhere,” Lavellan chuckled lightly. “More in the south, of course, but after the last blight…. Well, I imagine clans can be found from Amaranthine to Minrathous. Didn’t meet too many others in the Marches, though clearly they are there,” she said inclining her head in Varric’s direction. Cassandra nodded pensively.

“I suppose that would make some level of sense.” She thought for a moment, as if unsure exactly how to ask what she was thinking. “I’m told some members of your clan might still be alive. Do you intend to go back?”

“I’d go home right now if could,” the Herald said with a sad but honest smile, “but I am needed more here. I might return in time. Once this is done. But for now, wherever I am is home enough for me.”

“That’s how I feel after years of tending to business for the Divine,” Cassandra said nodding. “Though I bare no love for Nevarra. Still I hope you get the chance to return, though it will not be the same once you do.”

“Of that I am sure, Seeker,” the dalish elf sighed. “Of that I am sure.” 

The group spent the rest of the meal trading stories of family, friends, and favorite adventures. While Varric was responsible for the bulk of conversation, the Seeker shared a few tales of her older brother. The Herald wondered what may have happened to Antony that caused the subtle flashes of sorrow that cross the warrior’s features. But that was a question to ask another day.

Cassandra wasn’t entirely convinced by Lani’s answer about where she was from. It rung with truth yes, but there was something there, just below the surface that the elf had not said. Still it satisfied enough for now. In all the time Cassandra had travelled with her, Lani Lavellan had given her no reason to distrust her. Besides, she was starting to like the elven mage. Respect her, even. The details could wait.

“I’ll have to remember the name of this place,” Lani said as they left, turning to look back at the golden writing over the door. “See if Leliana or Josephine have been here before.”

“I am quite certain that they have,” rumbled Cassandra, eyeing a masked man as he passed.  “I doubt there are many places in Orlais, one, the other, or both have not been.” 

“Kind of makes me want to tag along next time they come,” the elf said looking around. “See the sights with someone who knows them.” 

“If we survive this,” said Solas, “I’m sure they’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“Probably love the chance to take you shopping,” chuckled Varric. 

“Nothing like a shopping spree to celebrate the world not exploding,” Lani hummed in answer.

She stared up at the huge statues of Andraste and Mafareth that flanked the road as they left the city gates, studying their features. Lani wondered what the Bride of the Maker would say upon meeting her ‘Herald.’ Would she be disappointed that she was an elf? Then again Shartan was an elf - as much as Orlais may wish to forget that fact- and they had been good friends and allies. He had been her Champion even. Would she laugh at the folly of the her followers? Share a cup of tea and chuckle at the absurdity of it all? Perhaps they would have a great deal in common. Or would she be furious at such blasphemy? Such heresy?

Distracted as Lani was, she visibly jumped when a woman stepped out from behind a pillar only a pace or so ahead, blocking her path.

“If I might have a moment of your time,” the dark haired elven mage said politely. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra asked in suspicious surprise. 

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion,” Solas said bowing slightly, one eyebrow lifting. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled ‘Herald of Andraste’ with my own eyes,” she said to Solas and the Seeker. Then she spoke directly to Lavellan. “If it is help with the Breach you seek, perhaps you should look among your fellow mages.” She had a smooth voice. Soft and rich like velvet.

“I’m surprised the leader of the Mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” Lani said off handedly, head titling as she eyed the Grand Enchanter. 

“Yes,” agreed Cassandra. “You were supposed to be and yet somehow you avoided death.”

“As did the Lord Seeker, you learned,” the slight woman pointed out. “Both of us sent negotiators in our stead in case it was a trap.”

“A wise move,” Lani said, lips twitching in a smirk. 

“I won’t pretend I’m not glad to live,” Fiona said giving the Herald a slight nod before adding, “I lost many dear friends that day. It _disgusts_ me to think the Templars will get away with it. I’m hoping _you_ won’t let them.” Lani lifted her chin, eyeing the the woman thoughtfully.

“So you think the templars are responsible?”

“Why wouldn’t she,” drawled Cassandra disapprovingly. 

“Lucius hardly seems broken up over his loses,” the Grand Enchanter said ignoring the Seeker. “If he is concerned about them at all.” Lani dipped her head.

“Not exactly my favorite fellow,” she acknowledged.

“You heard him. You think he wouldn’t happily kill the Divine to turn people against us?” Fiona asked, arms out stretched for emphases. “Yes. I think he did it. More than I think _you_ did it, at any rate.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” said Lani. “Does that mean the mages will help us?”

“We’re willing to discuss it with the Inquisition at least,” Fiona said hesitantly, cooly. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come, meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both after all.” She turned to slip once more into the shadows, but paused to look back at Lavellan. “I hope to see you there. Au revoir, My Lady Herald.” 

“That was… Interesting, to say the least,” said Lavellan staring after where Fiona had vanished into the shadows, eyes narrowing in thought. 

“Indeed,” nodded Solas. “Something to look into perhaps.”

“Agreed,” she said slowly, turning to continue on their path out of the city.


	19. Masks and Breeches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the Inquisition gains a powerful new ally and a confusing new ally...allies?... people... at any rate...

The oddly placed red items they had discovered around Val Royeaux seemed to indicate a meeting place and time with someone, or someones, called Red Jenny. Or her friends. Or something. 

“While, it’s not really on the way back to Haven but it is close by,” thought Lani aloud sitting on a bench at the cross roads of the city. “What do you think? Should we check it out?”

“Seems like we could use all the allies we can get at the moment,” Varric shrugged, wiping road dust off Bianca with a handkerchief.

“It could be a trap,” warned Cassandra. 

“Then it’s a good things you’re with us, Seeker,” smirked the dwarf. 

“How about you, Solas?” Lani asked. “Any thoughts?”

“Many. Though none of great importance as pertains to your question,” he said lightly. “It could be a trap yet it also has the potential to yield new connections and allies. I leave this decision in your hands, Herald.” 

“Helpful. The lot of you,” Lani sighed sarcastically, sifting through the notes in her hands. “May as well, I suppose. And this. The salon of ‘Vivienne De Fer.’ It is nearby and starts well before we’re supposed to meet… whoever this is,” she said holding up a heavily doodled note. The Herald rose, dusting off her cloak. “Let’s go make some friends.” 

 

“Lady Lavellan on behalf of the Inquisition,” the a sharply dressed steward announced as Lani strolled into the hall in her well worn traveling gear.

It was a lovely place to be sure, elegantly titled and lavishly decorated. A tinkling fountain cast rippling light and shadow over the high painted ceiling. A live band was tucked neatly into an alcove. Their music filled the hall. The elf felt mildly bad for tracking dusty inside.

It was certainly the nicest affair Lani had ever been invited to. Then again, it was the first she had ever been invited to, so there was that. As the dalish elf walked among the masked faces, soft soled shoes making little sound on the marble floor, she began to wish her companions were with her, not waiting for her outside. Cassandra as back up in case this too turned out to be a trap. Solas because he was a fellow elven apostate- they could share in the quirked eyebrows and muttered whispers. And Varric because his retelling was bound to be amusing. 

“What a pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” said a kindly shorter fellow wearing a golden mask, approaching her as she stood awkwardly by the fountain. “Seeing the same faces at every event becomes so tiresome.” Lani bowed her head to him politely, unsure what to say exactly. This was far outside her experiences. “So you must be a guest of Madame De Fer? Or are you here for Duke Bastien?”

“Madame De Fer invited me,” the Herald said conversationally. “I’ve heard very little about Duke Bastien.”

“He hasn’t been seen much at court lately,” said the man’s companion coming to join them, long gown whispering across the floor as she moved. She had a high musical voice and, like the man beside her, it was heavily accented. 

“His business with the Council of Heralds often takes him away from home for long periods,” the man explained. “It can’t be good for a man of his years.” 

“And of course there is the civil war!” the woman added. “Bastien probably wishes to distance himself from the actions of his one time son-in-law.”

“Tearing up the Dales in a foolish bid for power? It will end in disgrace for Gaspard. Everyone knows it,” the Orlesian man said with distain. 

“I see,” said Lavellan, though she honestly did not. There was clearly a great deal more going on in Orlais than just the Chantry/Templar strife and the Breach. It was something she would have to ask Leliana about later. 

“Are you here of business?” The elegantly dressed woman asked brightly. “I have heard the most curious tales of you. I can not imagine half of them are true,” she said earnestly. 

“What have you heard exactly?” The elf asked hesitantly, an eye brow quirking. 

“Some say that when the Veil opened, Andraste herself delivered you from the Fade.”

“Some of those story tellers may have gotten carried away,” Lani smiled.

“But only for the best effect,” the woman giggled. “The Inquisition is a rip subject for wild tales.” 

“The Inquisition? Ha! What a load of pig shit,” said a new comer as he strode down one of the graceful stairways nearby. “Washed up Sisters and crazed Seekers. No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.” On second thought, perhaps it was a good thing Cassandra had remained outside. It would have been a shame for her to bloody the floor of such a beautiful home.

“I’ve never made any claims to holiness,” Lani said flatly. “What’s your point?”

“In front of all these people,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “you admit to being a pretentious usurper? We know what your Inquisition truly is. If you were a woman of honor, you would step outside and answer to charges.” 

He reached over his shoulder for the long knife strapped there. Lani made to move, to prepare for the attack. However, in that instant the man was frozen in place, the crackling of ice echoing off the walls as the band fell silent. The Herald looked up in confusion just as a tall, regal woman started to descend the stairs toward them. Hips sway exaggeratedly with each slow purposeful step, allowing for the most dramatic entrance possible. 

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house to my guests.” The dark woman clothed in form fitted white and silver corset and leggings purred. Her outfit included a high collar and elaborate horned head dress and mask that lent her quite the striking silhouette. Her voice was pleasant, as if commenting on a lovely flower arrangement or the weather, but it was laced even so delicately with venom. “You know such rudeness is intolerable.” Teeth showing in a brilliant smile against her ebony skin. Eyes flashing dangerously as she walked passed him, hand brushing gently over his shoulder. 

“Ah… Madame Vivienne! I.. I humbly beg your pardon,” he gasped in horrified surprise. 

“You should,” she said bluntly. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” The graceful woman studied him for a moment, arm crossed over her chest, chin resting in the long fingers of one hand, head tilted to the side as if inspecting a statue or painting. Then she turned to Lavellan. “You’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish foolish man?” Lani stared hard at the Marquis before replying in a similarly pleasant aloof tone. 

“I think the Marquis has seen the error of his ways.” The Enchantress nodded turning back to the unfortunate man.

“By the grace of Andraste you have your life, my dear,” the woman said snapping her fingers and releasing him from her spell. “Do be more careful with it.” 

The Marquis straightened his coat and made hastily for the door without another word. Other guests snickered and pointed as he passed. The woman gestured to the band and they took up their instruments. Music once again filled the air.

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering. I’ve so wanted to meet you,” the woman said looping her arm through Lani’s and leading her up to the quieter second floor. 

They came to a stop by a row of gigantic windows looking out on the well manicured court yard, gates, and city beyond. Lani could just barely make out her companions waiting for her beside the elegant wrought iron gate. She could have sworn Solas was looking right at her though it seemed doubtful he knew it was her at this distant. Still something about his postured indicated recognition. 

Thick brocade curtains were pulled aside and bound by golden cording on either side of the great windows. Cool evening light streaming through the glass and pooled on the gleaming floor. It was lovely spot for a private chat. 

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the woman said. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”

“Halani Lavellan, First of Clan Lavellan, and the ‘Herald of Andraste’ or so everyone keeps saying,” the elf replied mirroring Vivienne’s bow. “Your salon has certainly exceed my expectations so far.”

“I’m glad to keep you entertained, my dear,” she beamed. “I wanted to meet face to face. It is important to consider one’s connections carefully.” She gave Lavellan a knowing conspiratorial smile. “With Divine Justinia dead and the Chantry is in shambles, only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.”

“Then I assume you have something to offer us,” Lani said leaning casually against a window sill. “I don’t think you would invite me here just to exchange pleasant greetings.”

“I do,” chuckled the Enchanter. “Myself. I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the Imperial Court personally. I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal. And I am a mage of no small talent.” She smiled that beautiful smile again. “And as the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I led my assistance to your cause.” 

“You say the last of the loyal mages, but loyal to whom, I wonder,” Lani said lightly.

“To the people of Thedas of course,” replied Vivienne. “We have not forgotten the commandment as some have. That magic exist to serve man. I support any effort to restore such order.”

“So you’re in favor of returning the mages to the Circle?”

“Where else can mages safely learn to master their talents?”

“I can think of a few…” but the Enchanter seemed not to hear her. Or choose not to. 

“We need an institution to protect and nurture magic. Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own.” Lavellan blinked, utter unimpressed. She cocked an eyebrow at the woman, making sure to keep her expression carefully neutral. 

She did not know what to make of Vivienne. The enchantress was pleasant enough but something about her made the elf not want to turn her back to her for long. Still she could indeed offer a great deal to the Inquisition, not only with her own personal strength as a mage but her knowledge and influence within the Imperial Court of Orlais and its noble house, as well as the support of the Circle mages. 

For all of Vivienne’s tack and decorum however, she seemed to think Lani would agree with her on the topic of mages belonging in Circle Towers. Perhaps it was the whole ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing that threw the Enchanter off but it should have been as plain as the writing on Lavellan’s face, that the elf was no Circle mage, had never been a Circle mage, and had no intention of ever becoming a Circle mage. As much as Lani recoiled at the notion of mages once more being forced into Chantry’s towers as Vivienne seemed to want, the Inquisition needed all the help it could get and Lani had to shove her personal beliefs aside for the greater good. 

“Will that do?” The Enchanter chuckled, her laugh light and lovely and somehow false. “I think there is much I can offer you and your Inquisition, my dear. Influence and knowledge of the Imperial Court among them.”

_Solas is gonna love you,_ Lavellan thought dryly, shaking Vivienne’s hand and welcoming her to the Inquisition. _I wonder who will kill who first. Cassandra and Varric or Solas and Vivienne,_ she mused. _My money is on the mages._

 

“Go well?” asked Varric as Lani rejoined her companions. She left out a single dry laugh. “So… no?” The elven woman favored him with a poorly feigned grin, eyes narrowed. 

“We have ourselves a First Enchanter with intimate knowledge of the Imperial court and rather… _strict_ views on mages,” Lani said as politely as possible through gritted teeth. “She will be a valuable asset to the Inquisition, I’m sure.” 

She began down the road in the direction of their next stop, shoulders squared as she stalked forward. The others falling in step behind her. 

“Just don’t leave her alone with me for too long. Or Solas. Definitely don’t leave her alone with Solas. This world has enough craters…” she trailed off. 

The eyebrows of her fellow agents rose, though none near as high as Solas’s. But Lavellan made no further comment on Madame Vivienne De Fer. _They will see for themselves soon enough,_ she thought.

 

“It’s the Inquisition!” A guard shouted as Lani and the others entered the narrow alley. Fighting broke out almost immediately, though it didn’t last long. A few knife hands were no match for the surly mage and her battle hardened friends. 

“Well they know who I work for at least,” Lani said dryly stepping over a body and heading for the stairs to the courtyard above. “That bodes well.” Solas let out a derisive snort. 

“The Herald of Andraste,” a flashy little man said as she and her companions passed through the narrow gate into the manor’s main yard. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!” The dalish elf blinked several times at the tiny man, brows furrowed and jaw slightly open in utter bewilderment.

“I don’t know who you are,” Lani said truthfully. 

“You don’t fool me,” he said proudly, a turn of his head emphasizing each word comically. “I’m too _important_ for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you as well as…”

“Just say ‘what,’” said a grungy elven girl in a torn red hunters dress appearing out of the shadows, arrow held ready, aimed at the feisty fellow. 

“What is the-” his words were cut short as her arrow burrowed through his throat and out the back of his neck in a spray of blood. He fell in a messy heap. The archer let out a disgusted sound.

“Squishy one,” she groaned, “but you heard me right?” she said to Lani. “‘Just say what.’ Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah blah _blah_.” She ripped the arrow from his throat without preamble. “‘Obey me. Arrow in my face,’” the blond elf said mockingly to the dead man. Or about him. Lani wasn’t quite sure. The archer turned to her sighing. “So you followed the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re…” her face fell into glower. “And you’re an _elf._ ” Her eyes narrowed. 

“So are you,” Lani pointed out. The blond’s lip pulled up in a slight snarl.

“Well… hope you’re no too _elfy_ ,” she said. “Huh. It’s all good, in’t it?” her voice becoming light and twittery once more. “The important thing is… you glow?” she said gesturing to Lani’s hand. “You’re the Herald thingy.”

“Some believe I’m the Herald of Andraste,” the dalish elf conceded, unsure what to make of this new comer. “But who are you? And what’s this about?”

“No idea!” the girl exclaimed casting a glance at the dead man. “I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people?” the Herald asked, head tilting. “Elves?” The strange girl laughed mockingly.

“No. _People_ people. Name’s Sera. This is cover,” she said motioning to a stack of boxes, “get ‘round it… For the reinforcements.” 

At that moment, Lani heard voices shouting, raising an alarm. She spun, bringing her staff to the ready. As did her companions. 

“Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed,” the girl said stifling a giggle as she fit an arrow to string. “They’ve got no breeches!” Lani cast a mystified look at the blonde elf, utterly lost. 

Guards began to pour into the court yard. Sure enough, every single one of them was bare below the belt. _That’s…new,_ Lani thought stifling a snort of her own.

“Bunch of nutters,” shouted the elven girl with a giggle, bow string singing.

“Why didn’t you take their weapons,” snarled a disgusted Cassandra as she charged down a guard. He made a rather meatier sound than he may have otherwise due to exposed skin slapping against her shield and then the stone floor.

“Because,” the girl cackled. “No breeches!” 

It was decidedly not the most tasteful battle Lani had ever engaged in. In truth, she felt a smidgen of sympathy for the men as she set the ground around them on fire or a Solas sent them skidding away on their bare icy buttocks. _Sorry,_ she thought to herself over and over. _Sorry. So sorry._

Somehow this didn’t really feel like a fair fight. Maybe it was because Cassandra kept taking them out at the knee or thigh. _A smart warrior knows how to use all her advantages, I guess,_ thought the dalish woman.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I’ve seen enough of Orlesian men to last a lifetime,” Lavellan said once the fighting had come to its bloody end. She scratched the back of her neck as she looked around. “Maybe two.” Cassandra let out a revolted growl as she wiped down her blade. 

“Here. Here,” grunted Varric. A line formed over the bridge of Solas’s nose as he grimaced.

“Friends really came through with that tip,” the blond elf said barely containing her giggles as she stepped over a dead man and strode their way. “No breeches!” She doubled over as she guffawed. “So Herald of Andraste,” she said straightening, suddenly serious. Her mood swings were going to give Lani whiplash if they continued like this. “You’re a strange one. I like’d to join.”

“Join?” the dalish woman asked, brow raising, as she slid her staff back into its accustomed spot. “How about we get to know each other first? You know. Names and such?”

“One name,” the girl said. “No. Wait. Two. It’s… well it’s like this, I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends- The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me!” She said pressing spread fingers to her chest. “Well I’m one. So is a fence in Mumfore. A woman in Kirkwall.” She counted them on her fingers distractedly, eyes glazed in thought. “There _were_ three in Starkhaven. Brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah?” she said once more meeting Lani’s gaze directly. “It lets little people- Friends- be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera.” The elf hooked a thumb at herself. “The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there.” She waved absently around them. “I use them to help you. Plus arrows.”

“The Inquisition has spies already,” Lavellan said trying to puzzle out the woman’s meaning. “Can you add to these professionals?”

“Here’s how it is.” Sera held out her hands to demonstrate. “You important people are up here shoving your cods around. Blah blah. ‘I’ll crush you.’ ‘I’ll crush you.’ ‘Oo, I’ll crush you.’” Her voice grew higher and higher as she mimicked the “important people” even adding kissing noises at the end. Lani’s eyebrows rose. “Ahem,” the small elf said shaking herself, getting back on track. “Then you’ve got cloaks and spy kings. Like this tit,” she said motioning to the fellow she’d put an arrow in to start with. “Or was he one of the knives, all serious with his… little knife.” She visibly choked down a cackle at the innuendo. Then became quite serious once more. “All those secrets and what gave him up? Some house boy who don’t know shite but knows a bad person when he sees one. So no. I’m not knifey-shiv dark all hidden. But if you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches. Like those guards. I stole their…” her voice trailed off, edged in giggles before she shifted into a reserved mask, almost angry. Lani couldn’t decide if her mood swings were adorable or frightening. Perhaps somewhere in between. “Look. Do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal,” she said emphatically. “Like you do.”

“Back there you wanted to know if I glowed,” Lani said, eyes narrowing as she studied the younger woman. “Why?”

“That’s what you do in’t?” Sera said as if it should be obvious, eyes darting to the older elven woman’s marked hand. “You walked out of somewhere and now you glow. Andraste’s Herald,” she said almost reverently. “True or not, it seemed like the easiest way to know it was you.”

“True or not?”

“Well that’s what they say and all. Look. Don’t get ahead, yeah. I want to help this… whatever it is… Inquisition.”  “Alright, Sera,” Lani said slowly, eyeing her even as a sly grin began to spread. “I can use you and your ‘Friends.’”  “Yes!” the girl exclaimed. “Getting good before you’re too big to like! That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches because I have all these… You have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway, Haven. See ya there, Herald,” she said turning away with a little happy hop. “This will be grand!”


	20. Knife For A Knife-ear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unpleasant altercation takes place at an inn on the way back to Haven.
> 
> Trigger Warning: implied non/con

A bitter blowing storm had moved down from the high white capped peaks, blocking the narrow mountain pass to Haven. Whirling snow obscured anything more than an arms reach away. A furious wind battered the agents as they pressed onward, whipping cloaks wildly and tugging at hoods with enough force to rip them from frozen fingers. Trees creaked ominously, unseen in the dark. 

All but sand blasted by the tiny water crystals, Lavellan’s skin felt raw. She and Solas focused all their effort on keeping the horses warm and protected, able to spare little power to shield those on two legs. 

“Think the new girls made it through this all right?” shouted a shivering Varric.

“Vivienne will likely not have left her mansion yet or only recently has,” Lani called. “She should miss it entirely.” The dalish woman considered for a moment. “Sera’s…. resourceful, to say the least. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already in Haven. Safe and warm.” 

“There is little enough we could do for them in any case,” Solas pointed out, one hand gripping his hood tightly over his head. The other holding firm to the reins of the horse that trailed behind him. 

“True. And if we don’t find shelter soon there will be little anyone can do for us,” Cassandra said.“There should be an inn not far from here. Pilgrims frequented it on their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. We can seek safety there.”

Long pointed ears and round cheeks had long ago stopped burning and were now numb. _That’s a relief and somewhat troublesome,_ thought Lani. Muscles twitched and quivered in an attempt to produce more body heat but there was little enough energy left to fuel them. Cassandra shook violently, jaw tight has she leaned into the wind, though she did not mutter a single complaint. Varric suffered the most. They tried to position him between horses as to block more wind from buffeting him. It helped but only a little. His short stature made the trudge through the deep snow more arduous.  
What seemed like hours later, though was likely no more than a half of one, dim lights grew visible in the blowing snow.

“There. The inn,” The Seeker managed without chattering of teeth. _Oh thank the Creators,_ though Lavellan. “They may or may not have rooms for us but at least it will be warm and there is a stable for the horses.” Lavellan said nothing, angling for the beckons growing ever brighter as they walked. 

It was not a large place, nor particularly grand, but more so on both fronts than the dalish elf would have expected. The walls were sturdy, rough cut stone, humble but well built. Smoking chimneys lined the roof. The smell of hot bread and cooking meat wafted out from the main building. Warm light shone through thick windows along the structure’s front and the dim shapes of lit room windows could be seen high above in the snow filled air. 

Lani glanced at her companions as their neared the shelter. Varric was pale, his lips more purple than the elf would like. Much longer in the elements and the dwarf might succumb. Not that any of them were doing much better.

“Cassandra,” the Herald shouted over the howling wind. “You and Varric go secure us a corner and meals. We’ll see to the horses.” The Seeker gave a curt nod handing over the reins to her and Varric’s horses and steered the storyteller inside. 

Solas and Lavellan said little as they led the tired animals into the warm stable. It was a large, well maintained space already bustling with traveler’s mounts and live stock, all of which seemed quite content to be inside at the moment. There were still a few stalls left toward the back, workers hurrying over quickly to help. Fresh hay was spread out, blankets procured, feed and water set forth, and coin exchanged. Satisfied that their mounts were in good care, the elves made their way to the larger main building of the inn, sure to find their companions there. 

Lavellan’s hood blew off her head as they walked through the storm once more. Wind mussing the dark hair that had fallen from her braid. Too tired and too close to relief to be bothered, she didn’t pull it back up. 

The two elves entered the inn, stomping snow from their feet and leggings, brushing it from their shoulders and each others’ backs. The main hall was large and warm and bright, with a low ceiling, and full of fellow asylum seekers blown in by the blizzard that raged outside. Talk and laughter filled the air. Travelers traded tales of their adventures and sang bar songs drunkenly. 

Hefty wooden tables lined the room, several running the length of it down the center. Fireplaces roared along each fur, painting, and trophy strewn wall. It was rather cozy for such a large space in the elven woman’s opinion. 

Cassandra rose and waved them over to a glowing fire toward the back the hall. Lavellan pointed her out to a still hooded Solas with a weary relieved grin allowing him to take the lead as they made their way along one rough wall toward the Seeker.

Lani only made it two thirds of the way. 

There was little to warn her, even less time to react, before the man was upon her. Shoulders slamming hard into the rough stone behind her. Knocking the air from her lungs in a muted huff and rattling the framed painting of an elk and his mate by a wooded stream hung no more than a foot to her right. 

She noticed several things in less than a second. 

First: even with skin still raw and stinging from the elements she could feel the razor edge of the blade pressed against her throat. The dalish elf went stock still, muscles taught and ready to move if a chance allowed but forced into something seemingly relaxed. The man’s other arm pushed against her collar bones to keep her in place, using his full weight. It hurt where his elbow threatened to crack the bone beneath it. 

Second: the room had gone deadly silent. Some people turning to watch the altercation as it unfolded, others resolutely ignoring it. While a few of the men that sat with her attacker were sneering at her, a few more looked unsure. Scared even. 

Third: her attacker was so close she could feel his breath on her face, smell the alcohol upon it. He was well taller than her and much heavier. While he carried himself rather like a fighter, he was young. Very young. Barely beyond his twentieth year and likely still in training from the way he held himself. Overly sure in his skills with little real fighting experience to back it up. 

Fourth: Her companions were angling in on the situation. Solas had gone loosely rigid a few paces ahead, like a predator lining up on prey, weight shifting ever so slowly as he rotated on the spot, faint flickers of power called to the ready. Varric had moved Bianca from where she lay beside him on the bench to resting casually in his lap beneath the table. A shaft was no doubt being quietly fitted into place by the way his shoulders moved. Cassandra had risen, hand on the hilt of her sword. Chestnut eyes aflame.

“Bloody knife-ear!” the man hissed loud enough for most of the tavern to hear, spitting into Lavellan’s face. His eyes were muddy brown, reddened with drink and barely contained hate. His ruddy hair stuck up oddly in several places, no doubt mussed by a hat, hood, or helm. The dalish elf twitched as the spittle landed on her cheek and slid down toward her chin, but said nothing. 

Cassandra growled, fury radiating from her as she started forward, all road weariness forgotten, blade sliding free of its sheath with a gleam of light on steel.

Raw green energy began to arch between Solas’s spreading fingers, his relaxed stance belying the tension in his shoulders, the even spacing of his feet. 

The Herald of Andraste made a subtle gesture with her hand halting them both though they remained at the ready, stares fixed on their companion’s attacker. 

“Your kind are nothing but inbred beasts,” the man slurred, face getting ever closer to the elf’s. “Worthless. Foul. They should be hunted down and killed like the vermin they are. Every. Last. One.” 

The dalish woman met his gaze evenly, her eyes going completely matte, dark, and emotionless. Her chin held high. Not so much as blinking as his nose near brushed hers. If the man were not intoxicated he may have noted the quiet rebellion for the threat that it was.

“What do you say, boys,” he grinned smugly to his fellows, “should I rid Thedas of this _rat_?" His knife hand jerked slightly, cutting into the tender flesh on the side of her neck just under her jaw. A trickle of scarlet pooled on the blade then ran down her pale skin, disappearing beneath the collar of her cloak. He laughed loudly, cruelly. Others joined in, but only a few. Lavellan’s eyes narrowed. 

In his boasting, he had given her the few precious seconds she needed. While she had not had much time to react before he hit her, she had managed to draw the long slim dagger she kept at the small of her back. Now she rested it lightly against the inside of his thigh. The motion going unnoticed. 

“Or should we have a little fun with her first?” he asked brazenly looking her up and down. His face dipped low to her neck, audibly breathing in her scent. Savoring it. Cassandra and Solas snarled audibly. Varric’s lips pulling up in a show of teeth. Again they made to move forward and again Lani stilled them with quiet gesture. “Share her around the tavern,” he hummed against her skin, his lips brushing against her. “Warm ourselves up a bit before the sky swallows us whole.”

“I would love to see you try,” Lani whispered in challenge, her breath ghosting over his upturn ear. His head whipped up, shining eyes locking on her eerily dark ones. 

“What did you say to me, _elf_?” he spat. 

She tilted her head to the side, unblinking, eyes near leaving his. The movement caused the knife to bite deeper into her throat, a second rivulet of blood beginning to flow. The elf seemed not notice but her captor did, eyes widening at the show of an utter lack of fear or pain. Her cool toothy grin was a slow, lazy, predatory thing- a wolf baring its teeth more than a proper smile. Her canines seemed dangerously pointed. _An odd trick of the light,_ he thought drunkenly.

“I said, I would love to see you try.” Lavellan’s growling voice had risen loud enough to be heard by those gathered. It dripped with defiant contempt. A purr of challenge. “You may kill me, but your family jewels will pay the price.” She put slight pressure on the dagger held to the seam between his thigh and crotch. The young soldier blanched. Instantly sober as he realized his mistake. “That is assuming you don’t bleed out, of course. We’ll make a race of it,” she said almost brightly. “See who’s blood drains the quickest.”

In his drunken hast, he had over balanced himself, leaning his weight into her more than he should have. There was no direction he could go faster than she could plunge the knife. Even if he slit her throat she would have enough time to puncture his artery before falling. 

“Sit. Down.” Cassandra snapped from a few strides away at the men who had begun to rise behind the pair. They stilled instantly, eyeing the sword clutched deftly in the Seeker’s fist.

“What is it you called me?” Lavellan mused, addressing the young man that held her. “An inbred beast?” She seemed to ponder it for a moment, savoring it, tapping the tip her blade rhythmically against his leg. “Worthless and foul?” She favored him with a somewhat disappointed pout. “I have to admit, not very original.” Her cocky confidence was unsettling, made more so by the scarlet slowly staining her clothes, every tiny movement adding to its flow. “Also, it may interest you to know what is under the left glove of this particular knife-ear. You might find that killing me is unwise. And not just because I’ll kill you and my friends over there will kill your men.” Varric wagged a few fingers at them, his face a grim and foreboding mask. Solas and the Seeker glowered. “I am rather less worthless than you think.” She offered out her left hand to a sandy blonde man, one of the soldier’s nervous companions. “Go on. Look.” 

The man glanced hesitantly at what was apparently his leader. _A poor leader if that is the case,_ Lavellan thought.

“Do it,” the would-be murderer hissed as the elf in his grasp applied slightly more pressure to the blade she held on him. 

“Slowly,” Cassandra amended, her voice a low rumbling threat.

The blond pulled at the elf’s gloved fingers. The black leather slid from her skin, the emerald light of the mark rippling across her upturned palm. A collective gasp went up from those around them.

“That’s right,” Lavellan cooed sweetly. “You’re holding a knife to the throat of the one woman who can save you from being ‘swallowed by the sky.’” Her eyes narrowed. “Good job,” she added scornfully.

“I… I… I didn’t know,” he stammered in horrified shock.

“I’d suggest you release me now.” The man backed off slowly, easing his weight from her chest and the blade from her throat. Raising his hands in surrender. 

Lavellan moved. In one fluid motion she stepped to the side hooking his ankle out from under him causing him to fall forward. She grabbed the back of his armor and slammed his face hard against the wall, the knife stained red by her blood falling from his fingers and clattering on the floor. Then she caught his left hand in hers twisting it backwards and up until his joints locked and she could maneuver him with a slightest amount of pressure. The she-elf brought her own dagger to his throat. 

“Stay your men,” she said authoritatively. “There is no need to shed more blood.”

The restrained soldier barked shaky orders to the men that had begun to rise and they settled to their benches once more. Wary eyes darted between the dalish elf holding their friend to the wall, the mage a pace away, the warrior who had taken a step closer, and the dwarf at the end of the row with his crossbow trained on them. 

“Now, I imagine that you and your men are on your way to Haven to join the Inquisition,” Lavellan said conversationally. “What other reason could such fine strapping young men have for being in this mountain pass inn after all? Am I correct in that assumption, young man?” 

“Yes,” he croaked.

“Glad to hear it.” Her voice became hard iron. “However, I will not tolerate such fifth as I have just witnessed to happen within our ranks. Am I clear?” she asked twisting his locked wrist. _“Am I clear?”_

“Yes!” he gasped. “Yes, perfectly.”

“Good man,” she said lightly, easing her grip. “I’ll be certain to inform Commander Cullen of this little mishap just to be sure.” Her voice became low and cold, colder than the howling storm outside. Lani leaned into his ear as she spoke though everyone within ten paces was sure to hear her. “If _you_ or _any_ of your men ever lay another hand on any elf, if you so much as look cross eyed at one of my kind, I will personally hunt you down like the dog you are and cut your throat while you watch.” Her own knife pucker the skin of his throat for emphasis though it did not break it. Her control was better than his. “In fact, if you ever behave in a manner such as this toward _anyone_ , I will _killA single elven mage is one thing. Two? Apparently something quite different._ Solas wondered idly if the young soldier would have acted the same had he known two elves were present. Would he had targeted Solas instead? Still Lavellan? Or would he have let them pass in peace? He supposed it mattered little now.

“Well… that was…” Varric began but trailed off at a loss.

“A Tuesday?” Lavellan offered with a sigh as she sat, still freezing limbs shaking as she hunched forward toward the fire’s warmth.

“I was going to say impressive. The look on his face when you took him down.” The dwarf chuckled though it seemed a little forced. “He didn’t see it coming. Then again, neither did I. _Maker,_ I though he about peed himself.” 

Shivers that had gone during the altercation returned once more with renewed vigor due the added adrenaline in her veins. Lani closed her eyes tightly for a moment, willing away the terror she had felt but not shown until now. She didn’t have much success. Her insides roiled with nervous energy. Gooseflesh that had nothing to do with the cold erupted all over her. _If he had been sober or more experienced…,_ she thought with a shudder.

“Hey? You alright, Vixen?” Varric asked from across the narrow table, voice lowering in concern. “You look paler than usual.” Lani nodded slowly.

“I’m be fine in a minute,” she whispered hoarsely. “Just shaken.” 

Her shoulders ached with tension. She pulled the bloodied napkin away from her skin and explored the area tentatively. The wound at her throat stung as the salt from her sweaty hands found it, eliciting a hiss of pain. Her fingers returned stickier than she had expected. “Huh,” she said mildly as she studied the blood covered digits. “That explains some of the dizziness.” She pressed her hand to her neck more firmly to stem the bleeding. 

Cassandra flagged down a bar maid and asked for a bowl of water and several clean rags. The girl’s eyes widen as she caught sight of the paling Herald. She bobbed a quick curtsey and hurried away, returning only moments later with a shallow bowl, a pitcher of steaming water, and a small stack of clean kitchen towels. 

“I take it this has happened before?” Solas asked, dampening a cloth. He lowered Lavellan’s hand and began to clean the wound. While she likely could have dealt with it on her own, she felt rather ill and so allowed him to do it for her, tilting her head to the side and pulling her braid to the opposite shoulder with her non-bloodied hand to give him better access. 

The blade had gone deeper than Solas would have liked and the man’s hand had not been steady, knife chewing at elven woman’s flesh. Lavellan bled freely, though she was in no real danger, especially now that it was being seen to. 

“Yeah,” the dalish elf grimaced as the cloth dabbed at the wound. “It’s the not the first time someone has tried to kill me for no other reason than my ears or my magic. And I’m inclined to doubt it will be the last.”

“That’s awful!” seethed Cassandra in shock.

“That’s life,” Lani shrugged wearily. She was clearly less phased by the events of the last few minutes than the Seeker. She was angry, no question there, and shaken, but she knew this dance well. Had developed a way to coop with it. A way to deflect it.

Satisfied with the cleanliness of the injury, Solas rested his hand gently over it, willing the site to seal. The Herald’s eyes closed at the odd tingling sensation, but his hand was warm and felt nice against her abraded skin. When he had finished, she nodded to him in thanks and took up one of the other towels, wiping away any blood that still remained. There was little to be done about the stains on her clothes, however. They would have to wait until Haven to get cleaned. 

“I’ve heard tales… I know relations are bad but… I’ve never witnessed…”

“Cassandra,” the elven woman said raising a stilling hand and redipping the cloth in the bowl. “The Chantry has been saying horrible things about elves for centuries. Alienages prevent understanding. And the Dalish haven’t helped matters. This is the obvious outcome of that. Nothing more.”

“But you’re so calm,” The Seeker said in disbelief. Lavellan’s eyes flashed, revealing the rage boiling beneath the surface for the briefest of moments.

“I am anything but calm,” she said in a low rumbling growl. “Trust me when I say I wanted nothing more than to slit that boy’s throat for his actions. But that’s just it. He is a _boy._ Raised with his prejudices and having little experience to combat them. And I, _the Herald of Andraste._ ” She shook her head. “While many would consider my actions justified, many more would see them as proof of my ‘barbaric nature.’ What good would that do the Inquisition?” She gave the Seeker a level look.

“You are not wrong,” Cassandra conceded grudgingly, though she glared over the elf’s shoulder at the offending men. Who, for their part, looked very sick and very ashamed. It warmed Lani’s heart that the Seeker had reacted so strongly in her defense. That they all had. It stole much of the bitterness from her thoughts. 

“Besides, I’ve been dealing with this kind of crap since long before I was Dalish. The tattoos might make me a bigger target, but they draw attention away from those perhaps less able to defend themselves,” she shrugged. “Plus now we have a group of soldier more determined than ever to prove themselves.” She chuckled with a vague wave behind her. “And I’m quite sure Commander Cullen with give them plenty of opportunity to do just that when he hears of this. I doubt those men will suffer much boredom.” That seemed to lighten the mood a bit. No doubt the Commander would not take kindly to such behaviors. Those men would pay many times over for their crimes and would be crimes.

“I admit that I have never seen you fight hand to hand, Herald,” Cassandra said. “Not without magic, at least. You do so well.”

“That’s a high praise coming from you, Seeker” the dalish elf said. “Thank you. But I know little more than the basics.”

“I imagine Commander Cullen will be amused that the Herald beat young Master Chapmen without much effort,” Solas said, a slight smile playing at his lips.

“Amused or horrified,” Varric chortled. “Perhaps both.”

“He was drunk and didn’t see it coming. All bravado and no experience,” Lavellan said shaking her head. “I’m no warrior or rogue, but it is good to able to defend oneself in multiple fashions. Or so I have found.”

“I agree,” the Seeker said approvingly. “We could train together sometime if you would like,” she offered. “I could teach you some of what I know. Perhaps Leliana could as well.”

“I would like that,” Lani said smiling warmly at the Seeker, limbs finally stilling their shaking enough for her it sit up properly. “Though I’ve seen what you do to those practice dummies and I’m not sure I’m near as robust.” Cassandra snorted a little laugh, the compliment seeming to sooth what remained of her ruffled feathers. 

Food arrived at their table. Plates piled high with thick cut slices of roast beef, baked potatoes and steamed carrots. Two hardy loafs of fresh herb bread were also dropped off to them. Lavellan’s stomach, once upset by the excitement, rumbled hungrily. She noted with mild interest that the servings placed in front of them were somewhat larger than those she observed elsewhere in the hall. She smiled. At least the Inn keep had a sense of propriety. The elven woman sighed happily as she chewed a mouthful of the warm meal, catching a bar maid by the eye and giving her a thumbs up. The maid beamed and curtseyed to her. 

“Can I hope we get to sleep in actual beds tonight?” Lani asked the woman and dwarf seated across from her. 

“As a matter of fact, you can,” said Varric brightly. “Managed to talk the the inn keep into giving us two rooms side-by-side even. So the Seeker here and I can keep you two up all night as per usual.”

“Best news I’ve heard in a long time,” the dalish elf hummed. 

Not much was said as they ate. Good meals given to those with empty stomachs tend to work that way, but even so Solas seemed more distant than usual. 

“Hey, you alright?” Lavellan asked him after a time. “You seem… off.”

Solas’s head titled as he thought.

“‘Before you were Dalish,’” he repeated her earlier words pensively, brows knitting. He gave her a questioning look. “Meaning you were not always so?” 

“No. I wasn’t,” she said simply. “At least, I wasn’t born in a clan if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh?” Cassandra asked looking up from her meal. “I thought you were always of Clan Lavellan.” Lani tilted her head side to side. “So then you lied?” The Seeker asked, eyes narrowing in confused accusation. The elven woman shook her head quickly. 

“No. Told you I was from the Free Marches. That I spent most of my life traveling with the Clan. One hundred percent true,” she said firmly. “My father was of Clan Lavellan. So, in a way, I have aways been so as well. I just didn’t join them until years after I was born.” 

“What came before?” Solas asked studying her.

“Starkhaven. Marcher born and raised. Like you, Varric,” she said turning to the dwarf. 

“Thought so,” he hummed. “You can always tell with Marchers.”

“You lived in the alienage there or…?” Cassandra asked. Lavellan nodded. “Why have you never mention this?”

“Why should I?” The Herald asked with an indignant little snort. Lani began to list reasons off on her fingers. “I figured Leliana already knew or would figure it out. It’s not overly important nor relevant to anything happening now. Perhaps most simply: No one asked. You all assumed I was always Dalish due to the these,” she ran a thumb over the tattoos gracing her lower lip and chin. “Seeing as that is how I identify, I saw little need to expand upon your assumptions. Also, it is not like any of you have volunteered every detail of your lives either?”

“A fair point,” Solas admitted. 

“I am curious, Herald,” the Seeker said. “Why did you leave Starkhaven?”

“Apart from alienages being awful awful places?” The elven woman rubbed her face saying nothing for a long moment, lost in dark thought. “I’m thirty-eight. I was little over my twelfth year when we- my father and I- fled. Do the math and tell me why we left.” Fingers ran idly over the shell of her necklace as she waited. Brows furrowed for a moment all around the table. Varric was the first to make the connection. His mouth opened in a silent ‘oh,’ his head bowing.

“I… Oh!… I see…,” Cassandra said, features falling. 

“I do not,” Solas said head tilting to one side in confusion. 

“Go look in the Fade, Dream-walker,” Lavellan snapped rather more harshly than she had intended. “If spirits are as drawn to conflict as you say, I’m sure they can show you. Though either of our companions here could probably give you an idea,” she said gesturing to the solemn forms of Cassandra and Varric. 

“I see,” Solas said frowning. 

“Just… there is a reason I don’t talk about it,” the dalish woman said weakly. “Why not many do. The Fade will give you better answers than I. If you have questions after…” He dipped his head to her in understanding. 

“Very well, Lavellan. I will seek my answers elsewhere.” 

“Good for you,” she sighed, laying her folded napkin over her now empty plate. “On that happy note, I’m declaring today officially over. Which room do I get to crash in?” Cassandra passed her a key. The smooth wooden toggle dangling from it on a leather cord indicated the room it went to. “Fantastic,” Lani breathed in relief. “Good night, folks. Maybe all this snow means we’ll get to sleep in tomorrow.” She flashed them a weary smile then excused herself, disappearing up the stairs to the guest rooms above. 

Solas turned to the two remaining.

“What happen in Starkhaven twenty six years ago?” 

“A lot of bad,” Varric said with a shake of his head.

“That explains a great deal about her,” Cassandra said quietly, eyes following the path the Herald had taken. She met Solas’s gaze. “We know little of the details- what started it. But we know what the outcome was.” The Seeker was quiet for a moment, eyes unfocused on some distant point. “Twenty six years ago Starkhaven had one of the largest, bloodiest purges of any alienage. Hundreds..” her voice caught and she cleared her throat before continuing. “Hundreds, if not thousands of lives were brutally ended. Most of them elves.”

“The city claimed the elves rebelled. That they instigated.” The dwarf sounded disgusted.

“Others claim the elves were hiding apostates, blood mages, and abominations,” Cassandra said. “While the hiding of apostates is not uncommon, no evidence of blood mages or abominations was ever found.” 

“Not that we’d know anyway,” Varric growled. “Before the dust had even settled and long before folks could start asking questions, the city burnt the alienage to the ground and all evidence along with it. Just locked the gates and set the place on fire. Be damned anyone who was inside.” 

“We are lucky that the Herald made it out of there with her life,” Cassandra said gravely. “Many did not.” Varric shivered violently. It had nothing to do with the blizzard howling beyond the inn’s sturdy walls. 

“Can we talk about something else?” he asked anxiously. “Just thinking about it makes my skin itch.”


	21. Blazing Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas seeks out an old memory in the Fade in search of understanding and finds much more.

By the time Solas retired to the small room he and Lavellan would be sharing, she was fast asleep. It was furnished with two narrow beds, a rug covered floor, one tiny window, and a small fireplace. The last of these glowed quietly with rippling embers, filling the room was enough warmth to combat the chill and enough light for the elvhen man to see. 

Normally Lani slept curled on her side, or stretch out upon her back, or lightly upon her stomach, but always loose and relaxed. She was anything but at ease in her slumber tonight. The dalish mage barely took up half of her bed with arms folded across her stomach, fingers clutching at her sides, knees pulled tightly to her chest, and feet tuck up close. Her muscles were tense. A quiet whimper escaped her lips as Solas set about readying himself for bed. A shudder passing over her. 

He turned to the woman. Studying her in the dark. She was proving to be far more capable than he had expected and yet, in that moment, she looked little more than a child besieged by a nightmare. The blanket had slipped from her shoulder and Solas could see the dark stain her blood had left on the upper portion her pale undershirt. 

Silently, he moved to her side pulling the blankets higher up as she usually preferred and tucked them in. The elven woman made a soft sound in her sleep, twitching. The dreamer sighed, sitting gently beside her. He rested a hand upon her forehead, closed his eyes, and pulled at the Veil. It quiver and shifted at his touched warping around Lavellan and thickening. She stilled, muscles relaxing. Job done Solas climbed into his own bed. 

The elvhen man couldn’t help but wonder if he had had a hand in the dreams that plagued the Herald this night. Still, they were banished now. She should sleep in peace. 

Hands folded over his chest, breath evening out, he slipped across the thin barrier between Thedas and the Fade. 

 

Solas was far from Starkhaven and had not seen those lands in person since they were something unrecognizable by to today’s world. Still the spirits were able to guide him to what he sought. 

Lavellan had been right. What had happen there had drawn a great deal of attention from the Fade and the elvhen mage was able to walk the events as he would any other city street. He did not linger in any one place long. 

All around him reflections of memory reenacted unspeakable horrors. Elves fled before the marching boots and shining armor of templars and city guards. Screams and cries of pain and fear and desperation echoed all around him. As Solas walked the steps of the Starkhaven alienage, growing ever closer to the gates, the screaming grew louder. The stairs beneath his bare feet ran red and slick with hot blood. 

The Dream-walker had seen endless battles in the Fade. Witnessed horrors in his own existence as would turn many a man mad. But this? This was mindless. Violence for violence sake against those that could bare afford to fight back. 

There a woman and child. The infant shrieking, abandoned, as his mother stared empty eyed into space. 

Here a man run through the back as he fled, drowning on his own fluids.

There a little boy trampled beneath heavy boots, near unrecognizable.

Here an elderly couple cut down as they hid in an alcove, arms still wrapped in a final embrace. 

There a once lovely young woman…

He looked away.

Ahead, the sound seemed to seethe and grow. The dreamer paced closer, stepping on what little open ground he could find between the dead and dying. 

Solas had seen these events before, he realized. He knew what he would find. And yet he walked on. For now he viewed these events not as a passive observer but as one seeking understanding of another.

Gates far too tall to for the average man to climb without rope, flexed and heaved but did not give under the weight of the bodies pressing against them. Elves pushed, beat, and clawed at the wood trying to break free, crying out for aid that would not come. 

Behind the crowd, soldiers marched forward with deadly efficiency. Blades glinting scarlet in the light of the setting sun. Elf after elf fell. There was no where for them to go, to hide. No shelter to be had. Man, woman, child, and elder all stuck down by uncaring blows. Solas simply watched. Knowing full well he could not change these events. 

A form slipped from the shadows down a side street, catching his eye. He turned, edged closer. 

A young girl, not quite a teen, stood shining eyed in the narrow shaded ally. Dark hair falling freely down her back and shoulders. Her meager shirts were torn and stained, bare feet painted red. 

“Mamae!” She cried out quietly, pushing against a door in the wall. “Mamae! Varavin! I found a way! We have to go now!” 

The girl beat against the door. Kicked at it. Her movements becoming more and more desperate, eyes darting frequently to the soldiers down the road. Solas paced closer down the ally.

“Mamae, please! Papa is coming! We need to be ready!” She cried, hands flat against the age smoothed wood, forehead resting upon it. Tears were running freely down the child’s face as she surveyed the debris and bodies on both sides of her in despair. No doubt, a few were people she had known. 

The girl backed away from the door, spine flattening against the opposite wall, preparing to charge down the unyielding barrier. Dimming sunlight fell over her features.

Solas let out a pained breath. He knew those dark green eyes. That black streaked and tipped hair. Lavellan at twelve. It should not have surprised him that he found her here. He had after all come in search of a better understanding of her past. But the sight of her so young and vulnerable. So innocent. Knowing that these events changed her life so much so that she would not speak of them… It was like an icy dagger to the chest that threaten to fell him.

Lavellan ran at the door with a growl of defiance, throwing her shoulder into it with all her weight. She could not have been more that ninety pounds. The door gave slightly. Again she backed up and again her slammed into the door. It gave in the third attempt just enough for the girl to tumble through into the small but obviously well loved hovel. The young elf vanished into the shadowed recesses of the home.

Solas followed, having to duck beneath several fallen beams in order to enter. He glance around what had been main room. Neat shelves of books, jarred herbs, and trinkets ran the length of one wall. Or they had been neat before several of them were ripped from their supports, spilling their contents upon the dusty floor. A look around the sparse room revealed inexpensive but well made furniture -likely home made- over turned and broken. The front door had been blocked by some of the debris.

“Varavin!” The tone of the young Herald’s voice had changed: higher, gasping, pained. Solas’s chest tightening in response, his eyes closing in dread. “Varavin, wake up! Where’s Mamae?” 

The dreamer followed the sound of her quaking voice, passing from the ruined room into a narrow hallway then into a small room with two neatly made albeit humble beds. Lavellan was shaking the pale, blue lipped form of a small boy maybe eight years of age. His hair the raven black of Lavellan’s lowlights. His eye merciful closed. 

“Varavin…” she sobbed, trying to drag the boy toward the main room by his stained shirt and having little success. “We have to go. Get up…” her broken voice told the truth of it. She knew he was beyond her reach. Beyond anyone’s reach. 

The girl sat kneeling at his side in silence, hands going still in her lap. Tears carved clean trails in the dust coating her unmarked face, darkening her skirts where they landed. Then she leaned forward and placed a long gentle kiss on Varavin’s forehead. One hand resting tenderly in his hair. 

“Maker protect you, brother,” she whispered against his skin. Solas’s brow furrowed at the name of the god. He had only ever heard her speak of the Creators before and that infrequently.

One last time the elven girl breathed in the scent of her brother, pressed her forehead to his. Then she rose. Limbs slack at her side.

“Mamae,” she said quietly. The words no longer a call expecting an answer, but rather a quiet hollow plea. A prayer. Lavellan walked slowly out of the room, through Solas, and down the hall to what he assumed was her parents bedroom. 

“No, Lavellan,” He pleaded softly reaching out to her, knowing she could not hear him. The young elf walked through the open door hanging slightly off its hinges. Solas followed mutely in her wake. 

Lavellan had gotten much of her looks from her mother- the woman’s long elegant ears and large eyes, though her daughter’s were green where her’s were silver grey. They had the same high rounded cheek bones and pointed chins. Same deep coppery bronze hair. Similar builds, though the Herald was more muscular. Solas noted that her mother had died little older than Lavellan was now and bore no vallaslin.

The elven girl made not a sound as she beheld the still form of the woman laying cold and curled upon the floor, unnoticing of the specter standing over her shoulder. Instead, she walked forward, kneeling to straighten the skirts that had bunched up when her mother had fallen. Lavellan brushed the hair from the woman’s face, tucking it lovingly behind an ear, and closed her eye lids with gentle fingers. Then she curled up in the woman’s arms, head pillowed on one lifeless bicep, body forming to the curve of her mother. Young fingers laced with older as the child pulled her mother’s other arm around herself as if they were cuddling. A lullaby slowly raising from Lavellan’s throat. 

Solas did not know how long he stood there watching the dust falling lazily through the air, listening to Lavellan’s quiet song. It could have been moments. It could have been hours. The scene made eery by the muffled sounds of the slaughter outside, the dancing light through the window as fires began to burn. 

An elven man shouldered his way through the front door.

“Fenria!” he shouted. “Fenria are you here? Did you find them?”

Solas turned to see him run into the hall. The man looked a great deal like his son though his daughter bore his eye color, jawline, and skin tone. Where his wife’s skin was like porcelain, his was pale but tanned, sun kissed like Lavellan’s. His face was marked with the vallaslin of June, the craftsman- colored similarly to the older Herald’s tattoos. Or more accurately, her’s were to be colored like his. Lavellan’s father let out a strangled cry as he found his son, disappearing into the room. He returned a short time later with the limp boy clutched tightly in his arms. Cheek resting on the child’s forehead as he cradling him best he could. 

“Fenria! Mira!” He called into the quiet home, voice high, cracking with fear and sorrow.

“Here, Papa,” Lavellan said weakly. 

The man was tall and broad by elven standards though still a few inches shorter than Solas. The dreamer stepped to the side as the Herald’s father hurried into the room. 

He gasped, falling to his kneels beside his wife and daughter, gathering the woman’s limp form into a tight embrace, his son still tucked in one arm. An inhuman howl tore itself from the man’s throat, reverberating off the walls of the tiny home. A heart shattered. A soul ripped apart. A world forever changed. The sound of it made Solas flinch and look away. The raw emotion of it too real to bare. 

Young Lavellan’s lip began to tremble in earnest as she sat beside of her father. He motioned to her with a gesture of his chin and she flung herself at him, arms latching tightly around his neck. Face buried in his shoulder. Their backs shaking as they wept. 

They sat like that for long time. Huddled in a pile. The living mourning the dead they could not save, could not take with them. The loss too real and too new to be processed as anything other than hollow all consuming pain. 

Their heavy breathes began to slow. Sobs subsiding. The man pulled back from his sniffling daughter’s grip, looking at her.

“Fenria,” he said gently, bidding her reddened down cast eyes to meet his, “please get the bag you packed before. Grab anything you want to keep.”

“But Papa,” she began to protest meekly eyes darting to her fallen family.

“We have to leave still, da’len,” was his quiet firm reply. “And we must hurry. The fires are starting. Your mother and brother wouldn’t want us to wait here to die as well. Now go.” The girl rose slowly at his order, as if on autopilot, eyes still wide and unbelieving, and left the room.

Lavellan’s father laid his wife gently against the floor once more. Hand cradling her head as not to bump it. His thumb trailing over her cheek tenderly, smoothed her brows. He heaved a shaking breath. 

“Ar lath ma, Mira,” he whispered. “Ma emma lath. Ma Uthlath.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly upon the temple, then the lips. Finally he kissed her upon the tip of her nose, tears landing on her still face even as he smiled lovingly. “I love you. May your god greet you warmly and take you to his side.” 

He hugged Varavin fiercely to his chest one final time, rocking the boy as he did so, burying a kiss in his son’s hair, then laid him gently in his mother’s arms, tucking him within them as Lavellan had been. He smoothed the boy’s dark locks back from his face. The elven’s man eyes shut tightly, jaw clenching against a fresh wave of emotion. 

An elegant hammered silver ring was slipped from Mira’s finger, her wedding band no doubt. A familiar shell necklace unclipped from around her neck. A simple quilt pulled from a chest was laid gently over the bodies and tucked in as if they were merely sleeping. His hand resting on the cover as he waited.

Lavellan hurried back into the room, a heavy bag bouncing over one shoulder. Her father glanced up and nodded. He beckoned his daughter over. Taking her hand in his, he slipped her mother’s ring onto her thumb, her fingers still to narrow for it to fit anywhere else. Then he latched the chain about her neck, letting the shell fall lightly against her sternum. He met her gaze without a word, fresh tears falling, and pulled Lavellan into a tight hug, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“Never forget them, Fenria,” He whispered into her tresses.

“I won’t,” she promised with a shaky breath. Her father withdrew enough to rest his forehead against his daughter's. 

“Never forget who you are. No one can take that from you if you don’t let them,” He said, voice stained but strong. The young Herald nodded slowly, gaze downcast. He lifted her chin until she met eyes that matched her own. “Your mother was and still is so proud of you and the woman you’re becoming. Varavin could not have asked for a better big sister. Remember that, Ma’fen. Remember it always.” He kissed her forehead gently and rose. “Come. It is time.” 

Lavellan father’s took his only living child’s hand and made for the front of their ruined home. The young girls eyes lingered on her mother and brother until the last possible second. 

Solas followed the pair, Lavellan’s father grabbing his own pack from beside the door and slinging it over his shoulders. Two bags remained. Abandoned. One larger. One smaller. The elves had clearly been prepared to leave on short notice for quite some time. 

The young girl stayed close behind her father as they moved silently into the streets. The shouts and screams of the alienage once more overwhelmed Solas. Spirits rushing back and forth, reenacting the terrible events. He struggled to keep up as Lavellan and her father darted down one street, then another like scared mice. Hiding behind corners and darting into to shadows or behind crates and debris to escape the eyes of marching soldiers. Eventually ducking out of the alienage through a hidden passage behind the Vhenadahl- the Tree of the People- at the slum’s heart. 

Once out of the city, they turned back to look at their burning home. The elvhen man beside them stopped to look as well. Great flames reached toward the sky where the alienage had stood. Shouts and cries still audible even from so far away. Though there were far fewer now. The glow of the fires reflected in Lavellan’s dark eyes, making them shine as though they themselves were ablaze. 

“Why would they do this, Papa?” she whispered brokenly, her voice coming out much younger than her years, her hand seeking his and finding it. “Is it because of me? Because of my magic?” He gripped her fingers tightly.

“No, Ma’fen,” he breathed gently eyes shining with reflected fire just as his daughter’s did. “It is not your fault. _Never_ think that it is. The humans did this because we are different. That is all,” he said gravely. “Because they don’t understand us, they fear us, da’len. Because they fear us, they hate us. Because they hate us… they try to destroy us.” He looked at his daughter, drawing her eyes up to his. “But they never will. No matter how many times they have tried, we still remain. We will endure. And now _you_ must endure.” The Herald’s father cast one last look at Starkhaven and sighed. “This is no longer our home. We will find another. It is our way.” He turned then, steering her with him gently though she strained to look over her shoulder and her hand slipped from his.

Something in the young elven girl shifted then. The childlike light in her eyes dimmed, becoming something deeper, hotter, and darker. Her long narrow fingers clutched the shell against her chest. Her jaw muscles tightened, features hardening ever so slightly. With one last deep breath she turned to follow her father, fingers falling loosely to her side. She did not look back again. 

Solas stood rooted to the spot. The fires raging in the far off city casting a glow upon his skin, an illusion of heat he could feel even from here. He had indeed seen these events before. Had viewed them with a level of detached interest. Sorrow, yes. And regret. He hated to see any such suffering. However, he had not lingered long in the memory. Staying only long enough to get a gist of the events, for, at the time, he had seen himself as something other from these elves. He was unsure how true that was anymore. Much had changed. 

To know someone who had been there, had survived these events, been shaped by them. To see what she had become, was becoming… To have watched her innocence die with his own eyes. He shook his head. He could see so much of himself in those he traveled with now. They challenged Solas in ways he had not expected. Were they really so different?

“Enough,” he bid the dream quietly. 

 

The elvhen man sat upright in his bed with a muted groan, the wind still roaring outside. He buried his face in his hands, forcing his heaving breaths to steady. Flushed skin hot upon his palms. The room was still dark. Either the storm was dense enough to block the sun or he had not been asleep more than a few hours. He was inclined to think the latter. 

“Find your answers, Fade-walker?” Asked a quiet voice from the bed opposite his. 

“Yes,” he said without looking up. He rubbed at his eyes, banishing the drowsiness that remained, then turned to peer at her. 

Lani Lavellan, the grown _dalish_ elf, was sitting on her bed with her back against the wall. Legs pulled up and tented in blankets, arms resting lightly over her knees. Her expression was compassionate, knowing, but also somewhat reserved as her head rested against the wall behind her.

“Have you been awake for long?” he asked.

“Awhile,” she shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much going on up here,” she said tapping her temple. “And out there.” She nodded out the window. The movement made the shell about her neck shimmer in the dim light. He felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of it. ‘Sentimental nonsense,’ she had called it. A mere ‘pretty bobble.’ She had spoken of it lightly, but there had been sadness beneath the surface. Now he knew why. And he wished that he did not. 

“I see,” he said turning away.

“And you were talking in your sleep. I recognized a bit of it,” she smiled sadly. Solas said nothing as he stared unseeing into the glowing embers of the fireplace a few feet past the end of his bed. “You okay?” She asked titling her head, voice softened by quiet concern.

“No,” he admitted. Images of the nightmarish dream still floated before his eyes. Haunting him. _Her_ face haunted him. Her pain. Her loss. It sang a horrible duet with his own.

Lani scooted off her mattress, taking the top blanket with her and wrapping it about herself. She climbed onto the foot of his bed, springs squeaking quietly, and he pulled up his legs to make room. There she took up a similar position to the one she had held before, a comfortable distance between them. Her presence seemed to help for some reason Solas could not accurately describe.

“I don’t blame you.” Lavellan briefly rested a comforting hand on his shin. “Not Starkhaven’s finest moment,” she said quietly. “Not sure I would willing search out those memories. Then again I have perfectly awful ones of my own if I’m ever feeling particularly masochistic.” He let out a huffed little snort, the bridge of his nose wrinkling.

“I saw you,” he said, voice rough and bare above a whisper. “Saw your home.” He didn’t say family. He didn’t need to. 

Her small smile faltered and she looked away, out the window and into the whirling snow. Her eyes became distance and heavy with memory.

“My father intended to take us _all_ back to his old clan- Lavellan- when he saw the warning signs within the city. Our family and anyone who would join us.” Her voice turned a little bitter. “I wasn’t the only apostate hiding in the alienage, just one of the more distinctive.” Lani shook her head, banishing the thought. “He had left with the clan’s blessing to be with my mother many years before. A blessing a bit uncommon for the dalish, I’d say. Remarkable group of people,” she smiled fondly. Her face fell after that. “But we were too late in leaving. Frightened soldiers tearing apart our home, our neighbors homes before we could flee. _I_ made it at least.”

“Your father…?”

Her eyes flashed to him then looked once more out the window. She shook her head slowly, eyes shutting tightly. The muscle of her jaw clenched and unclenched several times before she spoke.

“Bandits. Ambush.” 

“Ir abelas, Lavellan,” he said sadly, head bowing. 

A single tear slid down Lani’s cheek and she made no motion to stop it. It trailed over the fresh pink scars upon her throat and disappeared beneath the collar of her tunic. She had been alone. A feeling he understood all too well. 

“You said your spirit friends comforted you in times of grief. Shared your joy.” He nodded, brows furrowed as he looked up to study her pensively.

“They did.”

“That was Clan Lavellan to me. When I had lost everything they took me in. Made me one of their own. Gave me a home. A place to belong. A purpose.” Shadows danced over her face as she spoke, making her seem both younger and much older. The Herald turned to look at him then, green eyes dark and gentle and alight with a deep inner fire. “So many in this world do not see _‘my kind,’_ as you put it, as real people. Not city elf. And especially not Dalish elf. What happened downstairs is proof enough of that. I suppose that is why I can empathize with the plight of your spirit friends. Too many are trapped within the confines of their own narrow world views. It does them no credit.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about your people,” Solas said quietly, honestly. She was right and he could see the comparison now that she had laid it bare before him. “I let my own experiences color my views and cloud my mind. I closed myself off greater understanding. In so doing, I made assumptions about your clan that were uncalled for. It was unfair. And unworthy of me.” She smiled warmly at the elven man, dipping her head in acknowledgement. 

“Not all clans are as civil and opened minded as my own,” she said lips tugging up at the corners. “Many are to us what demons are to spirits. Corrupted by centuries of pain and lost to their purpose. I do not blame you your hesitation and wary anger. If all one has known are demons, friendly spirits would be hard concept to swallow.” 

Solas let out a snort. He had encountered that exact problem many a time when speaking of his work and his friends. 

“A fair point, Lavellan,” he smirked, leaning back against his headboard. 

They sat like that for a long time. Neither speaking nor needing to. Listening to the roaring wind and crackling embers. Taking comfort in the closeness of the other. 

At some point, they fell asleep. Solas’s back still against his headboard, his head and shoulder resting against the wall, legs stretching out once more. Lani rested against the footboard of his bed, her own legs draping over his, one foot hanging over the edge of the mattress, swaying loosely from time to time. 

Daylight was streaming through the narrow window before either of them awoke. The storm long stilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamae= mother  
> Ar lath ma = I love you  
> Ma emma lath = you are my love  
> Ma Uthlath = my eternal love  
> Ma'fen = my wolf  
> da'len= child or little child  
> Ir abelas= I am sorry


	22. Back At Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travelers finish the trek to Haven and meet with the advisiors to go over what happened in Val Royeaux. Krem! Cullen and the Herald have a chat about the events at the Inn.

“It’s good you have returned,” said Josephine fervently as Cassandra and Lavellan pushed through Haven’s Chantry door only to be swarmed by the advisors. They had been in Haven only long enough to set down their bags before heading straight for the Chantry. “We heard of your ‘encounter.’”

“You heard?” One of Cassandra’s eye brows rose in surprise, thinking they meant the attack at the inn.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead,” explained Leliana. _Ah. That’s right. The clerics,_ thought Lani. 

“It’s a shame that the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital,” Cullen said shaking his head as he led them down the darkened candle lit corridor to the war room. 

“At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now,” shrugged Lani unable to keep the weary irritation from her voice. 

“Do we?” Cassandra asked unconvinced glancing at her. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True. And he has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what?” Leliana wondered aloud, a line of concern forming between her deep red brows. “My reports have been… very odd.”

Cullen held open the heavy door to the war room as the women entered. He eyed the stain on Lani’s collar but made no comment, closing the door firmly behind them. Not that many people were in the Chantry at the moment, but the added privacy was beneficial. 

“We must look into it,” he said firmly, knuckles coming to rest casually on the edge of the large table as he stared at the maps spread out upon it. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” The Ambassador shook her head.  “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe,” she said.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united?” Cullen asked sharply, a note of disbelief in his words as he stared at Josephine. “It could be ten times worse.”

“I could at least find out what the mages want,” Lani countered. “Extend them the same courtesy we did the Clerics _and_ templars.”

“No doubt the mages want what they’ve always wanted,” rumbled Cassandra rolling her eyes, expression dark. “Support for their cause.”

“Well that would make two of us wouldn’t it, Seeker,” Lani retorted pointedly. Cassandra glared but said nothing. The Seeker may be more willing to tolerate mages than some and certainly believed the Circles needed to be overhauled, but it was no secret she disliked the rebels and wanted mages back in Circle towers at the end of all this. 

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe,” Josephine agreed. “The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize,” Cassandra warned. Her face pulled in to a deep scowl.

“You think the invitation could be some kind of trap?” Lani said shrewdly, eyeing the Seeker. “It’s not like we haven’t had to deal with a few of those already.”

“If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave…” The Seeker began. 

“The same could be said for the templars,” Josie pointed out politely but firmly. 

“True enough,” Cullen admitted gruffly with a sideways tilt of his head, stepping back from the war table. “Right now, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely,” he said arms crossing over his chest. 

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places,” Cassandra said, then turned to Lavellan. “That is something _you_ can help with.” The elf nodded, heaving a tired breath. 

“On it.”

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” sighed the Ambassador to the other’s approval. 

The meeting dispersed soon after. Josephine taking the lead, excusing herself to go write a few letters. Cassandra hot on her heels. Cullen paused on his way to the door, leaning over to Lavellan.

“Would you mind coming to see me later?” He asked keeping his voice low enough that only she would hear, eyes darting to the side of her neck where the freshly sealed skin was still visible. 

“I intend too,” she said seriously, meeting his concerned gaze. He nodded once, turned, and left. 

 

Lani stood with her the backs of her thighs leaning against the war table, massaging the bridge of her nose in frustration. Her boots were wet from melted snow, toes freezing within them. It wasn’t helping her already addled state of mind. 

“There is one other matter,” Leliana said coming to stand beside her in the now empty room. The Herald turned her head slightly to the side to peer up at the Spymaster before once more bowing it, continuing to work at the knot in her brow.

“What is it?”

“Several months ago the Grey Wardens of Fereldan vanished,” Leliana said gravely. “I sent word to those in Orlais. But they have also disappeared. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider the idea they were involved, but the timing is… curious.”  

“And you’re telling me this because…?” Lani said hand falling to her side as she met the taller woman’s gaze.   

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I can not ignore it,” she said firmly. 

There was a clear note of concern, worry even, in the spymaster’s tone. Lavellan remember then that the woman had once been close friends with the Hero of Fereldan, that she held great respect for her, and that the Hero had been missing for sometime now. 

“You think this could be related?”

“I don’t know,” Leliana admitted. “Two days ago my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.” 

“And if he can’t?” Lani was more concerned now than anything.

“Then there may be more going on then we thought.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” the elf assured grimly. “It’s not like I won’t be in the area again.” 

She gave Leliana as encouraging a smile as she could muster, which the rogue returned with a slightly bow and walked away. Whether there was something to this Grey Warden business or not, Leliana’s distress was enough to cause Lavellan to pause. The spymaster did not seem to be one to overreact. 

The elf took a few more moments to gather her wits before straighten. First a chat with the Commander. Then a tall mug of ale. 

 

“Excuse me,” a young soldier Lavellan did not recognize called as she left the Chantry. “I have a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“What’s you name, soldier?” She asked walking over to him. He was a handsome fellow with high cheek bones and a smooth voice. His armor, while well used, was clean and polished to a high shine.

“Cremisius Aclassi with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra,” he explained formally, giving her a low bow. “We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, The Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do, meet us there and watch us work.” 

Impressed by his stoic professionalism, Lani asked, “what can your Bull’s Chargers offer the Inquisition?”

“We’re loyal, we’re tough, and we don’t break contracts,” Cremisius said fervently. He spoke passionately but not as if bragging. These were things he prided himself in and it showed. “Ask around Val Royeaux. We’ve got references.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the elf mused. “And your Commander? What should I know about him?”

“Iron Bull?” the mercenary asked. “He’s one of those qunari. The big guys with horns.” He gestured to the sides of his head as if indicating where horns should be. “He leads from the front, pays well, and is a lot smarter than the last commander I worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We accept contracts of whoever makes the first real offer. You’re the first time he’s gone out of his way to pick a side, though.” 

“Interesting,” Lani said with a tilt of her head. “Why did your commander choose to send us this information?”

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition,” Cremisius said simply. “Means you’re doing good work.”

“I see,” she said, a dark eyebrow rising. “In that case, I look forward to meaning this ‘Iron Bull.’” 

“We’re the best you’ll find, Ma’am,” he said proudly but without bravado. He truly believed they were. “Come to the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.” 

“Fair enough,” she smiled. “How about you grab some food on me before you head back. It’s a long way to the coast from here.” The man nodded politely and she led him down to the tavern, settling him at the bar and seeing that he was taken care of before she retreated, returning to her mission.

 

Commander Cullen was in his usual place, walking up and down the lines of training soldiers, yelling instructions and giving pointers. The men from the night before were among the new recruits. To the elf’s mildly annoyed amusement, they stopped in their practice to point out her approach to one another with terrified looks. Her attacker looked positively ill. She ignored them.

Cullen turned on his heel when he reached the end of one row, marching back up the line. He caught sight of Lani then, giving her a polite greeting wave before finishing his last few orders and striding over. 

“Training going well?” she asked lightly, arms folded casually over her chest as she leaned against a tent pole. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well enough. Some of these young men have more bravado than sense.”

“Don’t I know it,” she smirked with a gesture toward her throat. 

“I had wondered about that,” he said. “That wound did not come from any beast or battle, did it? It seems too… _personal_ for that.” Her eyes darting to the nervous men behind him then back to Cullen. “I see,” he rumbled darkly. “May I take a look?” She nodded.

The Commander lifted her chin lightly with one gloved finger, turning it so the light would fall on the new pink skin Solas’s magic had formed. In time it would fade. If any scar remained once it was fully heal, it would be extremely faint.

“Solas’s work?” 

“The man has a gift for healing,” Lani affirmed. 

“That he does.” Cullen lower his hand from her face, fingers brushing over her collar, eyes inspecting the stains on her traveling cloak and robes. “What happened?” He asked. 

Lavellan described the events of the previous night with calm detachment. The storm that drew them to the inn and the attack there. Cullen listened without comment, his features growing steadily not shadowed with anger and revulsion. 

“And that was that. Solas patched me up and we had an otherwise lovely meal,” she finished. 

“Those men meant to kill you,” he whispered in eery calm, “rape you, simply because you are elven?” 

“Pretty much,” she sighed wearily. “This is not something new to me, Commander, and the attempt was fumbling at best. I doubt they’d ever tried something like that before. No doubt some misguided attempt to seem… I don’t know… tough, maybe?”

“Hmmm,” he growled. “Idiotic more like.”  “That too,” Lani snorted. “I’m just glad it was me they picked the fight with. I can handle goons like that. I shudder at the thought of it being a less skilled or practiced elf. And if they had tried that on many of my kin they’d be dead now.”

“While I approve of the way you handle them…Are they here? Now?” She nodded. “Show me.” The dalish elf gestured to the group of young men not far away. They visibly shrunk under the Commander’s icy gaze.

“I figured they had a chance of redemption here,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder. “They are young and incredibly stupid, but perhaps not irredeemably so. Their cruelty was taught. Perhaps decent men can yet be made of them. The cycle broken.” 

“We shall see,” the seasoned soldier rumbled gravely, not convinced in the slightest. “Thank you for bring this to my attention, Herald,” he said politely. She dipped her head to him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have _training_ to oversee.” 

Commander Cullen bowed to her, a bit lower and a bit more formally than he otherwise would have, then prowled toward the practicing men and women. With a word, they all went still and straight backed in neat rows. 

“It has been brought to my attention that some of you have engaged in conduct unbefitting of civilized human beings and certainly unbefitting of soldiers of the Inquisition,” he barked as he paced their ranks. “This is utterly unacceptable. We are not beasts here. And we will not treat anyone in anything less than a respectful manner. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Sir, yes, Sir!” The men and women bellowed in unison. 

“It does not matter age, gender, orientation, history, station, nation, or race. We are all agents of the Inquisition now. Whatever prejudices you have brought with you have no place here. Again. Do I make myself clear?” He came to a stop in front of Eric Chapmen, staring the younger man down. 

“Sir, yes, Sir!” the troops chorused again. 

“And you, Mr. Chapmen? Have I made myself _perfectly_ clear to _you_?” Cullen said in a deadly low hiss. The recruit swallow hard.

“Y…Yes, Sir,” he said quietly. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you,” Cullen sneered. The scar on his lip that normally lent his smile a charming air curled this particular expression into something more like that of a snarling mabari, deadly sharp and foreboding. 

“Yes, Sir!” 

“Good. You’ll be training with me today and for the next two weeks. Or until I feel enough sense had been knocked into you to make you a decent soldier. If I am unavailable, Cassandra with take my place or my Lieutenant. Understood?” The brown haired head nodded vigorously, eyes wide in nervous fear. “As for your ‘ _men_ ,’ they will take on the less savory duties around camp. You will oversee.”

“But, Sir,” the young man protested. “I was the one to attack the Lady Herald. I was the one in the wrong. My men should not pay for my crimes.”

Cullen’s chin lifted as he eyed the man studiously. 

“We may make a fine leader out of you yet, Chapmen,” he said reservedly. “While you may have a point about your own actions, your men failed to stop you when you acted wrongly. Failed to protest your actions or question them.” The recruits on either side of Eric bowed their heads in shame. “I do not train sheep here, Chapmen. I train soldiers. Warriors. Leaders. We do not have room for cowards. If one lacks the courage to stand up to one of their own when injustice is being committed how can we be sure they will have the courage to stand up to a foe more powerful than themselves when it is needed. Our strength is our unity. We relay upon one another to make us stronger as individuals and as a whole, on the battle field and off. Your men’s action or inaction weakened you and weaken themselves.” Cullen turned from the men in question, facing the rest of the troops. “This is a lesson _all_ of you must learn,” he shouted. “You must be willing to stand up for what is _right!_ Willing to place yourself between innocence and danger! Even if it means standing up to your comrades. Perhaps _especially_ so.” 

Lani gave a soft smile as she pushed away from the tent pole, tugging her cloak more securely about herself. If anyone in the world could put those men on a better path it was Cullen. He could inspire passion and greatness from even the most humble of soldiers. Satisfied they were in good hands, she left and made her way back to the tavern for a drink and meal before she returned to her own tasks. 

Behind her the sounds of sparing resumed. Chapmen might not think it now, but his one-on-one training with Cullen and Cassandra was likely to be a blessing. They were two of the Inquisition’s most formidable warriors. The skills they could teach him could save his life someday.

 

“So this is it huh?” said Sera sliding into the chair across from Lani. The dalish woman looked up from her book, spoon halfway to her open mouth, glaring slightly. _Five minutes. Is five minutes of quiet too much to ask for?_ “Oh no it’s fine yeah,” the blond said misinterpreting Lani’s expression. “It’s just… I thought it’d be bigger.” She laughed, snorting quietly as she rocked in her seat. “That would have been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted,” the Red Jenny said with a disappointed huff. “Anyway, stopping wars should earn more sovereigns than this,” she complained. “Need things back to normal for coins to be flowing again. Another reason the templars and mages need to be sat down.” 

“Pretty sure the Conclave proved it’s not that easy,” Lani said dryly finishing her bite, setting down her reading, and leaning back against the wall behind her to study the rag-tag elven girl.   “Yes it is,” Sera insisted brightly. 

“No. It isn’t.”

“Why?” She said, her face screwing up in frustration. “Because someone yelled it real loud? Make them prove it. They’re too busy to look up where the real questions are.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Lani said with a sigh and strained conviction. “To guide everyone back from the brink,” To be honest, she didn’t even know if that was possible anymore. 

“The religious ones tell you that?” Sera said shrewdly, giving her a sidelong smirk. “That’s important right. But don’t make it all about that,” she said waving a warning hand. She face shifted into a dark snarl. “Seems like believing too hard is what got everyone here. And here is stupid and smells of _horse_.” The Herald couldn’t help but snort. At least, she and Sera agreed on that point. “Really what everyone needs is to get everything back to normal- proper and profitable. Sound good to you, all touched Lady Herald?” She sing-songed.

“Sounds good to me,” Lani said once more leaning forward. “At least, I’m ready to give it a shot. That’s all I can ask from anyone else.” 

“Well I’m in,” the blond assured. “It’s an investment, yeah. Better pay off too. Stupid war and… everything. I had things to do!”

“Didn’t we all, Sera. Didn’t we all.”

 

Lani Lavellan had every intention of going back to her cabin, unpacking and reading the rest of the afternoon. There was much she had to catch up on, to learn outright, and much she wished to study while she had the chance. Studies on the Fade to help her better understand Solas and what had happened at the Conclave. All the information they could find about red lyrium. Reports on the strife in Orlais. Histories of the Chantry and the previous Inquisition. Most all she just wanted a quiet moment to herself. It seemed most of the relaxation time she got of late were her nights spent on the road sleeping beside Solas. Not exactly ideal. But as she walked toward her cabin a soldier shouted gruffly to her. 

“Oh for… what now,” Lani said plaintively under her breath. 

“You’re the one they’re calling the Herald,” the soldier said accusingly.

“If you know a way to make them stop, I’m all ears,” the dalish elf growled in annoyance. 

“I don’t,” the soldier said flatly. “These things have a way of taking on their own lives. But I am glad it has not run to your head. I did not join the Order to adjust my faith so easily.” _So a templar then,_ she thought nonplussed. _Fantastic._

“I’m certainly not asking you too,” Lavellan said bluntly. 

“But I appreciate what the Inquisition is trying to do and your role in it,” continued the soldier. “Though you may find not many templars do.”

“Ya don’t say,” the elf snarked. She wasn’t angry at the woman, but why did everyone feel the need to keep reminding her just how much she muddied everything. “And here I thought my warm reception in Val Royeaux was a fluke.”

“We are a distrustful lot by nature,” the woman conceded with a quiet chuckle. “Not all templars want to make mages in to prisoners or villains. Some of us just want to keep a balance and let you practice your craft in safety.” She gave Lani an even look, but her eyes were warmer than they had been. “One person trying to do something can make a difference. You should keep that in mind, Herald. Walk in the Maker’s grace.”

The First of Clan Lavellan stood dumbstruck in the whirling snow for a moment. Unsure how she went from being berated to getting a pep talk. She shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts and continued down the frosted path to her cabin. _It is that kind of day,_ she supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this for a few months now but only recently starting posting it online. As such I've been adding chapters like mad. However, you guys are starting to catch up to me so updates are going to start slowing down a bit. I still have a several chapters before you're completely caught up (I have through Redcliffe mostly mapped out), but I want to keep a bit of a buffer zone so I don't mess up my own continuity. 
> 
> Anyway, hang in there and thank you very much for reading.


	23. An Unfamiliar Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blizzards bring Inquisition activity to a halt for several days. Lavellan uses her time to catch up on reading and also to help the people of Haven directly and immediately. In the process, she makes a new friend. Someone who reminds her of home.

Thankfully, it seemed as though Lani would have a few days break in Haven before the next excursion. The storm that had stranded them at the inn on their way back from Val Royeaux was only the first in a line of fierce weather that swept down from the mountains. It was decided that out going missions would be paused until the storms had passed. As such, Haven was a might more crowded that usual. And a might more snow covered. 

The Herald of Andraste had taken this opportunity to catch up on the reports and research she had been given and enjoy a bit of light side reading. Varric had lent her a copy of “The Champion of Kirkwall” and she was slowly working her way through it. She wondered just how much of the tale was true, though she supposed it didn’t matter overmuch. Though if Marian Hawke was as Varric described, she hoped she might one day have a chance to share a drink with the woman. She seemed the type of person whom Lavellan would enjoy the company of. 

That would have to wait, however. At the moment there were more important things to see to. Like the making of mittens, because _Creators_ it was cold out. The storms had dropped the already crisp mountain air several more degrees and stirred up a gusting, howling wind.

Lani had claimed her favorite spot in the tavern for the second full day in a row- the quiet corner off to one side the main fireplace. She leaned back against the wall, feet propped up on the table in front to her in casual relaxation. A basket containing needles, thread, several neatly folded fennec hides, large scrapes of bear hide, miscellaneous other furs she had scrounged up, and a few pairs of leather shears sat to her left. Even beside the fire, the chill seemed to find her so she worked wearing thin leather gloves to warm her fingers and protect them from needle pricks.

She paid little mind to the patrons as they came and left. A few sat near her and held friendly conversation as she worked, always sure to leave her enough space as not to get accidentally elbowed. A few piles of sturdy rough-made mittens divided by size began to grow as the day progressed. Lavellan had started with ones for her companions and advisors, but since she had an abundance of leather and fur to work with she had simply continued on, content to sit in the warm and the dry and sew, offering sets to patrons as they passed by. 

Several villagers had donated to her stock of supplies when they discovered she was giving the mittens away for free to those in need or in want. A few others donated their skills, men and woman alike, to making a pair or six. At times the whole table had been lined with people laughing, joking, singing, and sewing. Though at the moment it was only Lani.

“Where can I get me a pair of those?” asked a bright tinkling voice Lani did not recognize.

It was sometime just after mid-day judging by the light streaming through the tavern windows. Lani had just finished the last few stitches on a thick, black bear fur pair she intended to claim for her own and was giving them a test fit over her gloves when the stranger spoke.

“If you find a pair that fits you in the stacks, they’re yours,” Lavellan said without looking up. Shears gingerly snipping loose threads from her new mittens. 

“Just like that?” 

“Pretty much,” the Herald shrugged, a smile to her tone. “They’re made from scrapes, my personal stock, or donated materials so it’s not like they’re a drain on Inquisition resources or anything. No sense in folks freezing their fingers off when there’s no need to.” 

“Nice! Thanks!” There was a pause as the new comer rummaged through the piles before, “Mind if I join you for a while?” The dalish woman looked up then and found herself face to face with… another dalish woman. 

The newcomer was near the same height as the Herald, but slimmer of build. Her skin was pale, almost milk white, making the dark blue lines twisting and arching over her features in representation of Andruil’s bow stand out all the more prominent. Cheeks and nose reddened from the cold. Golden hair bound in a loose braid fell over one shoulder, snow slowly melting in to the fine strands. Her eyes were rich shades of cornflower blue and teal and seemed to sparkle with hidden laughter. Her armor was well worn and of dalish make. Likely a clan hunter. 

“I… Sure,” Lani stammered, lowering her legs hastily and sitting upright. “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”

“Revari of Clan Thelassan,” the woman said with a smile, reaching out the Herald over the table. Lani leaned forward and they clasped arms in greeting, hands just below the other’s elbow.

“Lani of Clan Lavellan,” she returned. 

“Lavellan, huh?” the woman said straightening, fingers tapping her chin lightly in thought. “May have heard of them. In the North, right?”

“That’s us,” Lani smiled. “Hopefully it was good things you heard.” 

“Well I don’t recall any bad,” Revari said slyly, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, “so there’s that.” The follower of Mythal chuckled. 

“And Thelassan?” the Herald asked. “From where does your clan hail?”

“Southern Fereldan, a bit of the Dales, and parts of Orlais,” the new comer said, tipping her head one way then another with each location. “You know how it it,” she shrugged.

“Indeed, I do,” Lani hummed. 

“Mind if I leave my stuff here and go grab some food from the bar keep?” The blonde asked hooking a thumb over her shoulder. Lani shook her head, gesturing to where she had laid her out gear. 

“Go for it.” 

“Thanks,” Revari said gratefully, unstrapping her heavy pack, bow, and quiver. “Want anything?” she offered as she stretched and made to turn for the bar. The Herald examined her mug. Satisfied with its fullness, she shook her head. The golden hair elf shrugged and disappeared into the crowd, returning a short time later with a bowl and tankard. 

She was younger than Lavellan, though it was hard to tell by how much. Two or three years, but surely no more than that. Still the woman moved with the buzzing energy of a much younger person. Movements quick and nimble and somewhat exaggerated. _Not unlike a spring hare,_ mused Lani.

Revari returned, sitting heavily on the bench seat across from the sewing Herald. 

“Thank the Creators,” she breathed in relief, taking a deep whiff of the steaming meal, eyes closing in delight. 

“Long day, I take it,” the Clan Lavellan First guessed, one eye brow arching as she studied the woman over the leathers she was cutting. 

“The _longest_ ,” Revari drawled around a mouth full of meat and veggies. She swallowed and took a swig of whatever was in her mug before continuing. “Took longer than I thought to get through the mountain pass with the storms. Had to take shelter a few times until the worst bits passed. Tripled our travel time. Ran out of provisions last night. At least Leliana won’t be sending us back out into that mess until it clears.”

“So you’re one of Leliana’s people?” Lani asked. The other woman nodded, mouth once again occupied by the meal before her. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new here or have we just never crossed paths before?”

“A bit of both, I’d guess,” Revari shrugged. “I joined… what… three weeks ago now,” she said thoughtfully, face screwing up with the effort. “Yeah. That sounds about right,” she nodded to herself. “Saw the giant hole in the sky on one of my hunts and thought ‘Well that isn’t good.’ Returned to my clan, told Keeper about it, and said I was going to go try to help. Wasn’t sure how, but I figured it’d work out. And my clan has plenty of hunters so it’s not like I’m a huge loss to them or anything.” She paused to wolf down a few more bites. “Anyway, I avoided a few of Leliana’s agents for a while, wasn’t sure if they were the good guys or not- ya know, but I guess they had to work pretty hard to tail me. That apparently impressed the mighty Miss Ginger. When I got here and offered my aid, she put me right to work as a scout. Since then I haven’t been in Haven much.”

“Makes sense,” nodded Lavellan.

“I’d guess that’s why we’ve never crossed paths before given that you seemed to have been here a long while.” Revari looked her up and down, a knowing glint in her eye. Lani heaved a sigh that turned into a dark chortle. 

“You could say that, yes,” she smirked, fingers working a needle through a piece of stubborn mitten cuff. “Could say I’ve been here since this whole damn thing started.”

“Whelp. I’m just glad I’m not the only dalish around,” Revari grinned. “Don’t know what I’d do with all these shem all by myself.” 

“You and me both,” chuckled the Herald. “I have been a bit overwhelmed at times to tell the truth.”

“They keep giving me odd looks,” Andruil’s follower confided in her fellow dalish. “I mean, I get the being an elf, but they don’t look at the other elves like that. The plain faced. You’ve been here longer than me, is it the vallaslin?” 

Lavellan shrugged. 

“A bit, yes. The tattoos make us stand out more than others. But mostly it’s the shoes.” Revari stared blankly at her for a moment so Lani pulled up a leg, resting it on the edge of the bench, and gestured to her booted foot and calf. “They are awful twitchy about footwear for some reason,” she said once more lowering her leg. “Especially in this climate.”

“Really?” The elf gapped. “All those looks because I don’t wear shoes?”

“Humans are strange creatures,” Lani sighed shaking her head in weary agreement.

“That’s putting it rather mildly,” the huntress snorted. 

They chatted idly while Revari ate, pausing only when the new elf went to get a second helping. Revari was very open and trusting of the Herald for a dalish elf. Seeming to lack the bone deep suspicion so common among their people. Then again, perhaps she had just felt as homesick and out of place as Lani had and thus meeting another of her kind had come as an immense relief and comfort.

Sera strolled through a while later, face screwing up as if she had stepped in something unpleasant and smelly at the sight of Revari. She cast a narrow eyed glare at Lavellan as if the new elf’s present was somehow her fault. Lani called out to the flighty rogue and chucked a pair of mittens in the rough direction of her face. 

“What are these for?” the Red Jenny asked befuddled, snatching the items from the air and eyeing them dubiously. 

“Because it’s damn cold out, thats what,” Lani said. 

“Point,” the short haired elf snorted raising the patchwork mittens in an agreeing gesture before spinning on her toe and vanishing into the crowd. 

“What’s _her_ beef?” Revari asked scowling after the girl. 

“Sera is… not the biggest fan of elves.”

“But she is a…” Lani held up a staying hand.

“I know. I know. She’s… complicated.”

“I see…” The other elf said, though clearly she did not. A ghost of snarl flirted with the edges of her tone, her eyes narrowing in Sera’s direction. _Ah that’s more like it,_ the Herald mused. _Dalish suspicion at it’s finest._

 

“Want some help with those,” the golden haired Revari asked returning to the table after giving her empty dishes to the bar keep. By way of answer, Lani set the basket theatrically on the table before her and motioned to it. The scout dug through the contents, extracting a pair of shears, needle, and thread then came to sit beside Lani and the fire. The Clan Lavellan and Clan Thelassan elves worked together in comfortable silence. 

After some time Lani heard high smooth notes begin to rise from the woman. The bronze haired First glanced at her and saw a quiet contented smile beginning to curl the woman’s lips as she stitched a delicate silver and scarlet leaf pattern on the edge of a large, thick, grey mitten. Lani felt her own features lighten and smooth, her voice too beginning to vibrate in her chest and throat, deeper and smokier than her companion’s.

It had seemed an eternity since Lani had given voice to the songs of her people. Sure she had hummed them from time to time as she traveled, even sang a few quietly to herself. But these were songs meant to fill a space, meant to set imaginations alight, meant to be shared and she had had no one to share them with. No one overly interested, at least. It felt amazing to hear her voice rise and fall with another's. Better than she would have thought. The homesickness that had plagued her since the Conclave easing a little more with each familiar verse.

The songs turned to stories, stories turned to laughter, and by evening all the mittens that could be made had been and the two dalish woman sat laughing and joking over their drinks as if they were old friends reunited. 

“I supposed I should go deliver these before dinner,” Lani managed to huff. Her sides ached from stifled giggles. “Care to help, Lethallan?”

“Why not?” Revari said rising with her, a bright smile parting her lips. “Let’s see what good hearted mischief we can reap.”

Lani dropped off several pairs of different size with the bar keep for patrons in need and then stuffed the rest in her oversized basket and headed for the door, Revari following close behind. They almost ran over Varric as he shuffled in from the blustery outside, kicking snow from his boots.

“Oh! Hi, Varric!” the Herald exclaimed. 

“So this is where you’ve been holed up, Vixen,” he said looking between her and the Tavern’s warm interior shrewdly, eyes twinkling. “Can’t say as I blame you.” 

“Certainly better than being stuck out there,” she chuckled, head nodding out the window as she dug in her basket. “Glad I ran in to you actually. I’ve got something for ya.”

“For me?” he beamed in mock humility, hand upon his chest. “You shouldn’t have.” She produced a pair of thick tan rams wool mittens edged with a decorative crimson and gold stitching. They weren’t ornate, but they would match his duster well enough. 

“These are for you,” she said, handing them over. “Assuming I guessed your size right.”

He took them and gave them a tentative try. 

“Like a glove, Vixen” he said cheerfully holding up his hands and flexing them by way of show. She grinned, bobbed a quick curtsy, which he returned with a little bow, and darted outside. A gust of wind slammed the door behind the elves making both women jump and laugh. 

 

They were apparently in a loll between storms, which was a blessing to Lani’s point of view. The children of Haven frolicked about in the fresh snow, pelting one another with snow balls and making snow folk. The two dalish women snagged any child with bare fingers and tugged mittens over them before releasing them back to their play, watchful parents smiling thanks from the windows of their warm huts. 

“Bless you, Herald of Andraste!” one tattered dirty woman said wrapping Lani in a fierce if slightly awkward hug, pairs for herself and her husband clenched in chilled fists. Revari mouthed the words in silent awe to Lavellan from behind the woman’s back. Lani made a waving gesture for her to be quiet. When the woman had released the elf, curtsied, and passed out of ear shot, the blonde rogue came up and socked Lani in the shoulder lightly.

“Herald of Andraste!?” she said as the two of them began walking. “Fenedhis! All afternoon I’ve been talking, laughing, and sewing with the Herald of Andraste? You couldn’t have mentioned _that_ a little sooner?”

“Didn’t seem like a big deal,” Lani shrugged. Revari’s eyes narrowed, one hand coming to rest in a fist upon her hip.

“Sure,” she drawled with a dismissive roll of her other wrist and hand. “You’re just the one person everyone says is the only hope of saving the world. Pish. No biggie.”

“Look,” Lani said dryly, turning to her. “I didn’t ask for that and I’d rather people stopped calling me ‘The Herald’ at any rate. The title just makes me something more than I am.” 

“Oh? And what _is_ that precisely?”

“A dalish elf with incredible bad timing,” the Lavellan First sighed continuing up the path. 

Revari studied her for a moment, features skeptical. Then she relaxed and nodded, hurrying to catch up. 

“Whatever you say….. _Herald_.” Lani glowered. Revari chortled, nudging her lightly in the shoulder with her own. Her giggle became a laugh as they walked, growing brighter and more infectious with each passing step. “I’ve… been shooting the breeze…” she wheezed between snorts, chortles, and hoots, “with the Herald of bloody Andraste… and she’s an ELF!” She all but doubled over in the snow filled air. “Oh that must really rankle the stuffy butts in Val Royeaux,” she managed to wheeze before loosing herself once more to hysterics. 

“You have _no_ idea,” Lani said with a roll of her eyes. Her own voice soon breaking around the edges with titters. 

“You really do have horribly awful timing. You know that right?” Revari said whipping at her eyes and regaining some of her composure. “Or maybe it’s fantastic.” Sobering completely she said, “you could do a lot for our people. Could really change things for them. The Herald of Andraste, Blessed Savior, an elf! You play this right and it could change a lot of lives.” Lavellan nodded firmly.

“I hope to. In some way, big or small, I hope to make this world a little better for them. For all of us. Even the city elves.” The scout eyed her appraisingly. 

“You know, Lavellan,” Revari said resting a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “You’re all right. I think you’ll do just fine.” For some reason she could not explain, Lani thought that was high praise coming from the Thelassan elf. She smiled, more heartened than she had felt in a long time. 

“Come on,” she said swinging the basket lightly. “We’ve got more mittens to get rid of.”

 

Solas was not outside, no doubt having barricaded himself in his hut for the duration of the blizzards. A good call for anyone with sense. Given that Lani was outside walking around in the bitter air, she clearly lacked such wisdom.

“Who is this?” Revari asked as they came to a stop in front of his door. 

“An elf named Solas,” Lavellan said, raising her hand to knock lightly on the wooden frame. “He’s one of my friends… er… companions. He saved my life when this whole thing started. We’ve been traveling together ever since…” she trailed off with a small smile. Revari’s brows lifted. “Him, Varric, Cassandra and I,” she added hurriedly. “Probably why you haven’t met him.” Revari favored her fellow dalish with an utterly unconvinced look. “Don’t give me that…” Lani began but Solas’s door opened just then, a flood of warmth and dim firelight spilling into the evening air. 

“Ah. Herald,” he said warmly before his eyes darted briefly to Revari. “What can I do for you… two?” 

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Lavellan began with a slight apologetic shrug of her shoulders, a quiet wicked smirk playing at her lips.

“Fortunately, you did not. I was merely reading,” he said with a soft smile of his own. Now that he had said it, she could see the books piled beside a blanketed chair near the fireplace. One heavy volume lay open upon the seat.

“Ah. Well, I just wanted to stop by and deliver these.” 

She held out mittens of dense wolf fur similar in color to the wolf pelt he sometimes wore over his shoulder. Unlike the others she had made, these covered much of the forearm and could be tighten with attached leather straps -in the same shade of deep brown as those that bound his staff to the pelt- to lay tightly over sleeves or beneath bracers. Mittens were not the most practical of hand coverings, but they were warm and these were as functional as she could possibly make them for they were part glove. The wearer’s palm and fingers were individually covered in thick fur save for the tips of each digit. The front half of the mitten was able to be secured against the back of the hand when one was in need of more dexterity or pulled over the fingers in classic mitten form for added warmth. Only the thumb remained fully covered at all times.

Solas took the offered items with a polite bob of his head and examined them. The hide was soft and smooth beneath his touch. The tanner had down a fine job in that regard. He smirked when he noted the darkened wolf fang on each mitten, his thumb toying with them idly. They acted as toggles to hold the foldable portion in place or as simple adornment when one’s fingers were fully covered. Lavellan had apparently taken the time to stain the teeth to match his wolf jaw pendant. A fact not lost on him. In fact, it appeared she had spent a great deal of time on this particular pair in general if the mittens in her basket were comparable.

“Thank you, Herald,” he smiled, an eyebrow subtly quirking, lips pulling ever so slightly higher on one side in a warm barely hidden smirk. He bowed to her respectfully, eyes shining from within. “I am sure they will go to good use.” 

Lani returned the smile, cheeks blushing in the chill air, and made to say something more, but her eyes glanced at Revari who was leaning against the outside wall of Solas’s hut looking entirely too smug and she thought better of it. Instead she dipped her head to him.

“Have a good evening, Solas,” she said adjusting her basket and making to leave. “Stay warm,” she called over her shoulder. 

“I will try,” he replied before closing and locking his door.

“So,” Revari said smirking, “he’s cute.” Lani elbowed her. “What? I just call it like I see it.” 

“Yeah well you keep calling it like that and I’m liable to shove you into a snow bank,” she growled, but there was no heat in it. Perhaps some childish embarrassment, but no heat. 

“Just sayin’,” Revari shrugged with a little rumbling purr. “I wouldn’t mind him keeping me warm on a night like this. Not. One. Bit.” 

Lavellan was many things and good to her word was one of them. In one quick movement, she hip checked the blonde elf with as much force as she could manage without spilling her basket, sending the woman stumbling off the path and sprawling into a deep pile of snow. For a moment, all Lani could see were her companion’s bare feet sticking out of the white. Then the woman rolled, flinging an armful of powder in the snickering Herald’s direction as she righted herself. 

“I warned you,” Lani chuckled, waving the snow way from her face. 

“Yeah yeah,” Revari grumbled, raising to her feet and brushing flakes from her clothes and hair. “I’m not wrong though and you know it.” She gave Lani a shrewd and pointed look. “I didn’t see any other mittens near that intricate in your basket. Not even your own. You like him. And he didn’t seem particularly repulsed to me.”

“Perhaps,” the dark haired dalish elf shrugged not quite able to keep the smile from her lips or her cheeks from flushing further as they continued down the path toward the Chantry.

 

They visited Leliana and Josephine next, delivering items made especially for each. Leliana’s a pale creamy tan edged in white. Josie’s black with decorative blue stitching. 

Even Vivienne had a pair of long white fennec fur mittens bestowed upon her. The cuffs rolled slightly just below the elbow to display the fine silken fur, the symbol of the Circle upon the back of each hand. A villager had offered to do the embroidery. A good thing too: one- because the symbol and what it stood for made Lani feel sick to her stomach and two- because if she had tried she’d still be sitting in the tavern stitching and it wouldn’t look near as good. Still she knew it would mean a great deal to the Enchanter and her reaction had been while worth it. 

“Why thank you, My Dear!” The Enchantress beamed. “They are lovely. And this stitching is elegantly done,” she said inspecting the shimmering thread. 

“I can’t take credit for that part,” Lavellan admitted, “but I’m sure the woman who did it would be flattered beyond belief that you enjoy her work so.”

“Do tell her for me, would you?” 

“Of course,” Lani said, smiling politely.

“These will be ever so helpful in this atrocious weather,” she said. “I was near afraid I wouldn’t make it through the pass myself.”

“Well the Inquisition is glad you did, Lady Vivienne. Now if you’ll excuse us, Revari here and I have more mittens to deliver.”

“Yes of course, my dears,” the Enchantress smiled, pulling on the mittens and relishing in their soft feel. “Don’t let me keep you.”

 

While everyone else had been more or less relieved of duties that involved the great outdoors, the soldiers were using the weather as a chance to train in poor conditions. As such red faced men and woman huddled around blazing fires in between sparring matches. Swords ringing out into the deepening dark. Cassandra was in her usual place among the practice dummies getting a few last swings in before she called it a night.

Revari dug in the basket and held out the mittens Lani described before passing them over to the her, who in turned held them out to the Seeker. 

“What’s this?” Cassandra asked surprised, sheathing her sword and taking the offered items. 

“A gift,” Lani said. “I figured if my fingers were cold, others might be too.” 

Cassandra studied the present, smiling warmly as her thumb ran over the white Seeker’s emblem that had been painted on the tops of the black mittens and allowed to dry and bake in by Lani’s fireplace over night rendering the markings permanent. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, meeting Lani’s gaze then Revari’s. “Both of you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Revari said holding up her hands. “That pair was all the Herald.”  

“They are wonderful,” Cassandra said, features brightening in to the most luminescent expression Lani had ever witnessed of the woman. The Seeker had to resist the urge to rub the soft black cuffs against her wind roughened cheeks, that simple pleasure could wait until she was away from prying eyes.

“Glad you like them,” Lani replied smiling. “Stay warm, Cass.” And with that and one final wave good night, she went to deliver the last marked pair to their rightful owner. 

Cullen took the heavy, grey, bear hide mittens and immediately pulled them over the thinner gloves he had been wearing for sparring. 

“My hands have been freezing all week it seems,” he sighed. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time they were warm. Thank you, Lavellan.” 

“Actually, Commander, you can thank my new friend Revari here for that particular pair,” Lani said gesturing to the dalish rogue. “She made them earlier today. Embroidery and all.”

“I see,” he said, studying the woman with gentle eyes, that near trademarked smirk beginning to curl his lips. “Well then, my thanks, My Lady,” he said bowing to Revari, who -too Lani’s great surprised- blushed. And not just a little bit. “They are of fine quality and I feel warmer already.” He took her fur sheathed hand in his and kissed the back of it lightly.

“It’s…It’s nothing,” the golden haired elf stammered quickly. Lani glanced between the two of them trying hard to keep a straight face. 

“Ah, Cullen,” she said clearing her throat after what seemed like an appropriate amount of time had pasted. “Hate to interrupt, but do any of your soldiers need something to protect their hands?” She wagged a thoroughly bundled mitt at him by way of demonstration. “I know mittens aren’t the best for dexterity but they’re better than loosing fingers to frost bite.” 

“Huh? Oh. Yes, actually,” He said, straightening stiffly, tearing his chestnut colored eyes away from the tittering Revari’s cornflower blue ones. The tall man called out to the troops and those with bare hands formed a hasty line in front of the elves. Each and every one of them was fitted with a pair of mittens. These were simple by comparison to those that had been crafted for specific people, but they were rugged and well made. “It is kind of you to do this,” Cullen said as the last few soldiers were fitted and returned to their training.

“Meh. You know me. Building morale one pair of furry fingers at a time.”

“You joke, but there is much truth in that,” the Commander replied. 

“Happy to help in anyway I can,” Lani smiled. 

The two dalish woman worked their way back into Haven proper shortly thereafter- the Thelassan elf having bid Cullen a rather more girlish good night than Lani would have expected- handing out mittens to anyone they saw with unprotected hands. Revari cast frequent glances over her shoulder at the Commander and his troops as they walked.

“You know,” Lani said off hand, glancing at her new friend then back the way they had come, “I’m fairly certain the fine Commander Cullen Rutherford isn’t with anyone.”

“Huh?” Revari grunted, forcibly willing her attention away from the heavily armored man. “What? No… I… He’s…” 

“He’s tall,” the Herald mused. “Handsome. Sweet. Strong. And that little smirk of his is dashing as hell.” 

“Watch it, you, or you’ll be the one in the snow bank. Herald of Andraste or no,” Revari quipped, nudging Lani hard with her shoulder, though her lips pulled upward at the corners.

“I think I’ll pass on the snow burial,” Lani chortled. “Not my cup of tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan= causal name for someone one is familiar with. Similar to "Cousin", "Clansman", or "kin."  
> Fenedhis= Elvhen swear


	24. A Horse Befitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lani is given an unexpected gift

“You’ve held up your end of the bargain, Inquisition. I’ll grant you that,” Dennet was saying impressed. “Those watch towers are fine quality and the farmers are safe to work their fields again. I don’t know how you did it but we’re thankful.” He dipped his head to her and her companions, hands on his hips as pre usual. 

They had returned to the Hinterlands for a time, after the poor weather had passed,to help whomever they could and see about rejuvenating the area. It would be a fairly long excursion, but hopefully it would benefit the refugees and residence of the Hinterlands and help build a good impression of the Inquisition. Besides, the area was growing on Lani now that the fighting was dying down. 

“You’ll have my whole stable and good hands to go with it.” 

“You send your stable hands and your horses to the Inquisition, what about you?” Lani asked sipping nonchalantly from the mug of hot tea the Horse Master had provided. 

“Well you’ve cleaned up the area and I can’t say I’m not tempted,” he conceded. “Still it feels wrong to abandon my land to go play horse master again.” Lani gave Cassandra a meaningful look. The Seeker nodded and stepped forward.

“Are you Andrastian?” the warrior asked fervently. “This is a matter of faith! The Maker would want the best to join us.” 

“Laying it one a little thick don’t you think, Seeker,” muttered Varric under his breath. Solas’s eyebrow quirked in quiet amusement. Cassandra didn’t so much as look at him, pretending as though he didn’t exist.

“I’ve heard some things about you lot,” the dark man said lifting his chin to them slowly, eyes narrowing in thought, one hand rose to scratch at his short white beard. “Can’t say I’m not interested in what it all means.” He frowned for a minute, eyeing the dalish elf before him. “Alright, Inquisition,” he said finally. “I’ll look to your horses myself. Never let it be said that Redcliffe gave less than the best.” Lani beamed at the man. “Just let me settle matters here and say goodbye to my wife. Then I’ll meet you at Haven.”

“Fair enough,” Lani said leaning forward to shake his hand. “We’re glad to have you.” She straighten from the wall she had been leaning against, pulling on her perviously discarded jacket, and hefting her pack. “Thanks for the tea, Dennet, but we really should be going.” She and her fellow agents made for the door, but she paused and looked back. “And by the way, you can call me Lavellan. I think we’re shared enough drink and horse talk to drop at least some of the formalities.”

“As you say.” He bowed slightly.

They had barely made it a dozen paces down the path from his house when the Horse Master called after them.

“Inquisition! I mean, Lavellan!” He shouted, trotting up to them. “I have something for you. I was just going to send him up to Haven but since you’re here…” he shrugged.

“A gift? For me?” she said eye brows raising as she fell into step beside the man. “Should I be excited or concerned?”

“I think you’ll take kindly to it,” Dennet chuckled. “That forder I gave you is a fine horse, no doubt…”

“He has been everything you claimed,” Lani agreed. “I’ve got no complaints.”

“Good,” he said firmly, chest puffing with pride. “But I’ve got something better.”

“Better? You sure do set a high standard, Master Dennet.” She smirked, peering at him. “What’s this about?”

“When last you were here, you mentioned a fondness for Dalish All-breds.”

“I remember,” she nodded as they neared the stables. “Good horses, but rare in these parts.” The horse master smiled broadly, a mischievous cast to his grey eyes. 

“Almost as rare as dalish elves pushed out of the Fade by Andraste herself,” he laughed as he pushed open the paddock gate. “Seanna! Bring him out!” He shouted, relocking the gate behind the elf. From out of the stable came Dennet’s daughter and the most magnificent All-bred Lani had every laid eyes on. “Lucky for you, I seem to have come across one of both recently.” The elven woman simply stood gapping at the beast. “Well you just going to stand there with her mouth open or are you going to go say hello,” he chuckled.

“You have got to be kidding me!” She exclaimed finally. “He’s… for me?” Dennet nodded. 

“You’re both dalish. Both tough. Both a bit wild. As my wife would and _did_ say, ‘a perfect match.’” He cast a quick wry smile at Cassandra before adding, “Only the best for the Inquisition. Right, Seeker?”

“Oh, Dennet! I… I… I don’t know what to say!”

“You, Vixen? Speechless? That’s a first,” chortled Varric. Lani shot him a “hush, you” look, but its harshness was greatly diminished by her twinkling eyes.

“He’s wonderful!” she said, turning back to Dennet. “Thank you!” She reached over the fence and hugged the mildly surprised horse master fiercely. In fact, it seemed the only ones not surprised by the act were the dalish elf herself and the tall black and white stallion standing placidly a few paces away. “Whatever did you find him?” Lavellan asked breaking the embrace and looking once more at the horse. 

“Asked around a few of my contacts in Orlais,” he chuckled, straighten his jacket. “More than that… well a man needs to keep a few of his secrets.” 

“Fair enough,” she said brightly. 

Lavellan approached the horse, talking soothingly to him in elvhen as she neared enough to rest a hand on the side of his muscular neck, studying him as a giggling Seanna passed her the lead and left the paddock to stand beside her father. 

“Aneth ara, falon,” she whispered to the stallion. His ears twitched in response, snorting lightly as his sniffed her robes and armor, teasing the material with his lips. To Dennet she called, “he is a _fine_ horse.”

“I only take the best,” Dennet smiled, arms crossed over his chest in pride as he leaned on a fence post. His daughter laced one of her arms through his and rested her head on the the Horse Masters shoulder. 

“I hope he protects you just as well as that mare in your story,” she called to Lavellan, though the elven woman seemed not to hear.

The horse lowered his broad head, pressing it against her gently. The dalish elf rested her forehead against his. Both sets of eyes closing in joyful contentment. 

“Somehow, I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” mused Solas, leaning idly against his staff as he watched the pair.

“I swear she looks no older than a child standing with that horse,” sighed Cassandra, her usual brass tone softened. “As is all her hard years have simply vanished.”

“He’s probably one of the finest gifts anyone has ever given her, Seeker,” Varric said in a hushed tone. “I have a feeling there won’t be many moments like this in the future. We should let the girl savor it while she can.”

Solas thought that ‘girl’ was an interesting choice of phrase. Indeed, for the first time in the weeks they had traveled together, Lani’s face showed no sign of the strain she was under. No sign of her age. It that moment, as she stood whispering to the great beast, laughing has he bobbed his head and pawed the ground as if in answer to something she had said, she was utterly, blissfully happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aneth ara= friendly greeting -normally used between dalish  
> falon= friend


	25. Fade Talker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get nerdy on both Solas and Lavellan's part

The evening was clear and bright as they settled into their camp on the outskirts of the Redcliffe farms. The moon was near full and high, making the field glow with ethereal light. Lani flopped down on her bed roll, sighing happily into her pillow, before rolling over on to her back to look up at the canopy of the tent. Solas moved around his side of their shelter, unpacking his own bed roll and blankets and laying them out beside her. 

She drew in a deep breath, soaking in the crisp night air. She was tired, sure. But something about the night, the hums and chirps of the inspects, calls of far way animals, the pale blue light shining through the canvas above, made her feel both alive and at peace. The very core of her seemed to vibrate like a harp cord plucked by an expert player. 

“You seem happier than you have in while,” Solas noted as he laid down on his back beside her, the usual- if a touch narrower- comfortable space between them as they both stared at the cloth over head. She hummed lightly, eyes closing, an easy smile spreading across her lips. “I imagine Dennet’s gift has something to do with it.” She chuckled.

“That obvious, huh?” she said turning to look at him.

“As obvious as one who has received something for which they understand the full value,” he said. “The stallion is a fine horse.”

“He is,” she agreed. “Finer than I ever hoped see. Let alone ride. And to ride him! His gate… His strength… His ease of motion…But it is more than that.” The Herald’s voice was breathy with awed excitement, distant and dreamy. Solas smirked. It must be what he sounded like at times. So often it was her listening to his passions and insights. The change was refreshing. “All-breds are prized across Thedas for a reason. They are strong enough to pull ladened aravels endlessly. Carry fully armored riders for days over the harshest terrain.” Her hands gestured above her in her enthusiasm. “But their strength isn’t at the cost of speed. I’d never bet anything against one in a race. Never. And they’re brave. Those horses are known to take out charging brontos with a kick! Take on squads of men just to protect their riders! They are beyond loyal. Beyond tough. And… Well… They’re gorgeous,” she sighed happily. Solas chuckled. This side of her was charming to say the least. “Dennet has basically given me a personal body guard,” she sighed. “A big, beautiful, personal body guard. All-Bred are something everyone agrees the dalish got right,” she added, mostly to herself.

“Then I suppose, I can understand your excitement,” he said. “I hope he proves to be the remarkable beast you believe.” Lani blushed slightly, shaking her head.

“I must sound like a fool.”

“No,” he said gently. “Merely someone passionate. I can respect that.” They shared a brief smile before Lavellan cleared her throat.

“Well…It _is_ a lovely night too,” she conceded. “That helps.”

“Indeed it is,” he agreed. “And indeed it does.”

“The kind of night that can almost make you forget the world is in ruins.” She huffed wistfully. “Nights like this bring back so many fond memories.” Solas smirked in quiet reflection.

“I have made some of my most prized discoveries on nights such is this,” he said softly. “When the world is calm and at peace, as it is at this moment, the veil falls still and the Fade easier to slip deeper into. Such secrets lay there as to defy imagination.”

“Sounds amazing,” Lani hummed. She look over at him. “Solas, how much do you know about the Fade?”

“A great deal from my wanderings,” he said, eye brows lifting. He turned his head to meet her gaze. “There are few hard facts, but I can share with you what I have learned, if you like.” She smiled broadly. 

“I’d like that a lot if you don’t mind.” Her eyes shone even in the dim light.

“What do you wish to know?”

“Tell me about the Veil.”

“Circle mages call it a barrier between this world and the Fade,” he said. “But according to my studies in ancient elven lore, that is a vast oversimplification.” He rolled onto his side, facing the dalish woman, propping himself up on one arm. “Without it, imagine if spirits entered freely. The Fade was not a place one went but a state of nature like the wind.” His hands moved absently as he talked, miming in simple act the complex thoughts he wove. 

“Sounds like it would be wonderful,” Lani breathed, rolling over to mirror his position. 

“And dangerous,” he said. “But yes. A world where imagination defines reality. Where spirits are as common as trees or grass.” He frowned slightly as he continued. “Instead spirits are strange and fearful and the Fade is a terrifying world touched only by mages and dreamers.” Solas met her eyes evenly, deep green reduced to indefinable darkness in the low light, but still they were warm and shining. He smiled. “I am glad that I am not alone in seeing the beauty in such a world. Along with the obvious peril.” She returned the smile, something deep and unspoken in the expression. 

“So then, what exactly is the Breach in relation to the Fade and the Veil?” she asked curiously.

“That is a good question,” he said and there was a hint of pride in the tone like that of a teacher when a student has thought of something particularly witty. “Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade allowing spirits to enter the world physically,” Solas explained. “Small tears occur naturally where magic weakens the Veil. Or when spirit cluster in a area that has seen many deaths. But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach.” He motioned the glow of her hand still faintly visible beneath her covers. “That means it was created deliberately.” 

“Why, I wonder?” She muttered withdrawing the marked hand and studying its glow. A small frown of thoughtful concern creased her forehead. “What purpose could it have?”

“Perhaps we will find out in the days to come,” Solas offered. 

Lani stared at the mark a moment longer before shaking herself and stuffing it once more below her blankets, drawing them further up her shoulders before she settled once more. 

“It may not be the best bedtime talk but now I’m curious,” she said. “What can you tell me about demons?”

“Your Dalish say that demons hate the natural world. Seek to bring their chaos and destruction to the living.” Lani nodded.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Such simplistic labels misconstrue their motivations and, in so doing, do all a great disservice.” Her head titled to the side and Solas was both surprise and pleased to see that it was out of curiosity rather than disapproving accusation. 

“How so?” she asked.

“Spirits wish to join the living and a demon is that wish gone wrong,” he explained.

“Is there a way to coexist? To live with them, if not in peace, at least without such active confrontation?” It was not a question he had expected from her, or anyone in this world really. It caught him off guard. He studied her face for a moment, taken aback, before continuing. 

“Not in the world we know today,” he said sadly. “The Veil creates a barrier that makes true understanding most unlikely. But the question is a good one. And it matters that you thought to ask.” Her lips pulled up at the corners and she gave him a small nod.

“Thank you, Solas,” she said settling onto her back once more and favoring him with an appreciative smile. “For humoring me.” He dipped his head to her. 

In truth, he enjoyed her questions, her curiosity. She choose to challenge her own perceptions of the world rather than clutch tightly to them, actively seeking new knowledge even if it did not agree with what she thought she knew. It was a rare trait to find in a being from any age and even more so now. As such, Solas was more than happy to indulge her curiosity. 

He settled back against his own bedding, snugging up his blankets and folding his hands on his chest as was his habit. 

“Solas?”

“Hm?” He said opening one eye to peer at her as she stared upwards. 

“I wish you luck in your search tonight,” the Herald said softly. “I hope you find something wondrous and beautiful. We could use more of those.” 

“Thank you, Lavellan. I will try.” They shared a brief smile and then the elven woman rolled away from him, her breathing soon evening out and slowing. It did not take long for Solas to follow suit, slipping across the Veil as easily as stepping through a curtain. 

Lavellan’s question about coexisting with those of the spirit world had been unexpected to say the least. It troubled him as much as it pleased him. Solas had seen flickers of something deep within her before. Something that called back to a much earlier age. That reminded him of home. It should have given him hope. He supposed, in part, it did. But if she was _real,_ it could mean his mistakes would not be so easily fixed. That they were more far reaching than they had seemed. The cost to fix them potentially a great deal higher than he had once believed. But it also meant it was even more important that he try. Perhaps he could save a great many more souls than he had thought.


	26. A Special Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas asks to make a side stop while in the HInterlands

“Is it dyed?” 

Solas could hear his companions stirring quietly outside as he opened his eyes. Birds sang cheerfully in the few trees around them. Sunlight cast dancing shadows on the side of the tent as the wind stirred the leaves above. He rolled on his side and found that the Herald had not only woken, but packed while he still slept. He supposed he should probably do the same. 

“Huh?” Lavellan grunted from somewhere outside.

“Your hair? It is darker at the ends. Nearing black.” Cassandra pointed out. “And there are streaks in your bangs and throughout.”

“Oh that,” the elf chuckled. “No it’s not dyed. Just grows that way. Has since I was little. Some fluke of my magic, I guess.” 

“It is rather lovely.”

“Indeed, my dear,” Vivienne purred. Solas grimaced at the sound of her voice. The Enchantress had arrived earlier than he had expected. “I imagine you would inspire quite the fashion trend in certain parts of the Orlesian Empire.”

“Why thank you.” Solas could hear the pleased smile in Lavellan’s words. “That’s very kind of you.” 

The elvhen apostate shrugged into his mail and robes, belting them in place, and stowed his bedroll before pushing out into the bright day. 

“Morning,” Lani greeted, eyes darting up with a flash of smile even as her head remained bowed, fingers working her long braid back into its accustomed bun, dark ends once more tucking mostly out of sight.

“Ah our dear sweet apostate has decided to join the land of the living,” Vivienne said, mocking tone buried beneath a pleasant smile. “Hopefully, he left the spirits where they belong.” Solas ignored her entirely, coming to sit across from the Herald. 

“Good dreams?” She asked brightly.

“Indeed.”

“Glad to hear it,” the elven woman said with a sigh, fingers finishing the final pin and coming to rest in her lap. “Here.” She pulled a small gauze pouch from her pocket and tossed it to him with a knowing smile. Solas caught it, dropping it into his mug without a word. “Feel free to help yourself if you want more. Varric was able to restock me while we were in Val Royeaux and I have a bunch of them made up in the front pocket of my pack.” He nodded in polite thanks.

“Solas, I thought you hated tea,” Cassandra said confused, glancing between the two elven mages. 

“I do,” he replied.

“Then…?”

“Don’t ask,” Lani grumbled playfully. “It’s a long story.”

“And it’s not tea,” Solas stated flatly, his own lips pulling up in a private smirk, eyes flashing to Lavellan for the barest moment.

“Is it simply not in your nature to make sense or is it some aversion to the morning hours that render you unintelligible?” Vivienne asked.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” grinned Lani mischievously.

“Ah.. I see…” She said with delicately pursed lips. Lani snorted. 

“ _Elves_ ,” sighed Varric with an exasperated shake of his head coming to sit by the fire. 

Still chortling, Lavellan rose, picking up the apple beside her and tossing it lightly from palm to palm as she walked. The giant Dalish All-bred nickered happily as the elf approached it, eyeing the apple’s progress. 

“You want this, handsome?” she said softly. The horse pawed the ground, head bobbing excitedly. “Yeah?” 

Solas cupped the mug in his hands, keeping the water within at the perfect temperature while he sipped it, watching her. She pulled a dagger from her belt long enough to slice the fruit in half before sheathed the blade once more. 

“Here ya go,” she whispered, holding out her hand. The horse took the offered half with gentle lips, the elf smiling at the feel of his whiskers on her skin.“You are _magnificent_ ,” Lani said affectionately, scratching the horse between his ears as her tent-mate walked over to them. 

“Master Dennet has fine taste,” Solas agreed, coming to stand beside her. “As do you. Have you yet decided on a name for him?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, handing her fellow elf the other half of apple. “Thenerasvir. Thenvir for short.” 

Solas studied the horse as it graciously excepted the fruit from his palm and began crunching away. The stallion was a tall beast, shoulder near at a level with the top of Solas’s head. It was a marvel how easily Lavellan mounted him given how high his back was comparative to her, but she made it look easy. The horse was young, powerfully built. His soft coat was a patchwork of snow white and inky black splotches to the point is was hard to tell which one would pick as his dominant color. His mane and tail, both stirring gently in the breeze, were threaded white and black. The name Lavellan had choose for him possessed many subtle meanings. A fact that met to Solas’s approval.

“‘The path of dreams,’” he mused. “Or perhaps ‘dream’s way.’ The distinctions matter little. Conversely, Thenvir could be translated as ‘the waking way.’ Clever. The name is a good one. Two-fold and well chosen.” 

“I had inspiration,” the Herald said flashing the elven man a wicked little smirk. He returned it with a dip of his head. “A childhood dream made a waking reality,” Lani sighed happily, watching Thenerasvir with fondness. “So,” she said, turning to looking at Solas expectantly, hand absently resting on the hide of the horse’s flank. “What did _you_ dream about last night?” There was a subtle tease to the words and he breathed a small snort despite himself, shaking his head. 

“I’m afraid nothing so fanciful as you might imagine,” he smiled. 

“Darn,” she sighed theatrically. 

“As I explored the Fade last night,” he said, rolling the mug between his palms, “I felt the presence of an intriguing artifact here in the Hinterlands. Not far from here actually. If you are willing, I would like to locate it.”

“Sure,” Lavellan agreed with a shrug of her shoulder. “We’re going to be here a while anyway. We can find the time for one more stop.”

“Thank you,” he said bowing his head in that familiar way. “I have marked its location on our map as best as I could determine.”


	27. Hearts and Minds of The People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinterlands.... still.... but yeah snarky Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the chapter spamming today. There are a few chapters coming up that I'm really excited to post and while I thought I had the emotional reserve to wait and be reasonable and only post a few or one every few days... I don't. So Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or just your welcome or whatever. Thanks for hanging with me. I hope you enjoy what's to come in the future as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Solas’s artifact was on the far side of the Hinterlands from their current location. However, it was not far from where they intended to make camp as few days hence. As such it would be the last stop they would make before leaving the area. 

Lani Lavellan and her companions spend the week combing the lands around Redcliffe for anyone who may need help. They found more supply caches and food enough to feed and warm the tattered refugees at the Cross Roads for quite a while. 

Vivienne would remain there for a time, once they arrived, to offer what healing she could. Honestly, the Herald was glad of it. The Enchanter was a powerful mage, no question there, but she thought herself better than other mages, especially apostates. While she rarely made comments to Lavellan herself on the topic, she gave Solas no end of grief. 

“So an apostate?” The tall woman asked nonchalantly as they gathered healing herbs in a well stocked glade. 

“That is correct, Enchanter,” Solas said. “I did not train in your Circle.”

“Nor did I,” Lani pointed out dryly. Vivienne smiled at her politely or in feigned politeness, it was hard to tell, but continued to address the elven man. 

“Well dear, I hope you can take care of yourself should we encounter anything outside your experience.” 

The dalish elf ground her teeth reminding herself they needed the Enchanter and the connections she could provide, even as she heavily contemplated shoving the woman off a cliff.

“I will try, in my own _fumbling_ way, to learn from how you sealed the rifts at Haven,” Solas said voice heavy with sarcasm. “Ah! Wait! My memory misleads me! You were not there.” 

Lavellan snorted loudly, chuckling as she cast Solas an approving glance. He met it with his own and studiously returned to plucking leaves as though nothing had happened. Vivienne glared at the two elves momentarily before once more schooling her expression in to regal detachment. 

All in all, the Herald was glad to be rid of her in a constructive fashion and became even more so as their mission ventured further into waters she was fairly certain the Enchantress would disapprove of. 

In the hills to the south they came across the mostly whole ruins of an ancient fort. 

“I wonder if this is where that cult is located. You know, the one the villager back at the Cross Roads said his son Hyndel joined?” Lani said as they climbed the raise toward the gate. 

“It would seem likely,” Cassandra noted. 

“I know you,” a woman clad in dark mage robes said as they neared. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took in the motley group, finally coming to rest on Lavellan. “They call you the Herald of Andraste for what you did at Haven,” she said chin lifted as she peered down her nose at the elf. “But are you? The Maker has not told me.” 

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste,” Lani said flatly. Cassandra shot her a glare but the elven woman met it easily. “I will not claim to be something I am not. Especially when asked directly. Let the people believe as they will if you like, but I will make no claims of divinity myself. This is not something new to you, Seeker.” Cassandra glowered at her for a moment longer then nodded, features smoothing out once more.

“As I suspected,” the robed woman nodded. “Stories of you mastering the rifts are just blind heresy.” 

“No,” Lavellan said firmly turning to face the mage fully. “I _can_ seal rifts.”

“Then prove it,” was the contemptuous reply as the woman motioned for the gates to be opened. On the far side of the Keep, the Inquisition agents could make out the unmistakable glow of a rift. “Show me that the rifts bend to your will. The will of the Maker. Show me the power you wield.” The frustrated elf stared the rift on the far side of the Keep down for a moment as the group passed through the gate. 

“What are you even doing out here?” she asked the woman, arms crossing over her chest as they came to stand by a large Andrastian statue in the overgrown and crowded courtyard. “This Cult? What is it you think is happening?”  “The Chantry has fallen,” the cultist replied with a gesture around them. “And shown it’s imperfection in doing so. The Chant of Light was a lie.” The dalish elf titled her head listening. “It was arrogance to think that mortal lips could frame the Maker’s will. So we wait in silence. The Maker has opened the sky. Soon he will call his chosen back to the Golden City.” 

“Alright then,” the elven First said skeptically, completely unconvinced. “Until later, I guess.”

“Until the Maker brings you back to us.”

“It is not surprising some would turn to worshiping the Breach,” Solas said as the agents made their way toward the Keep’s rift. “If only in hopes of appeasing it.”

“People need something to believe,” Cassandra replied. “Anything that gives them hope.” She glared at the dark clad apostates around them. “Even if it is heresy.”

“Says the woman who also rebelled against the Chantry,” pointed out Lavellan.

“I… That was..”

“Different?” provided Varric, helpfully.

“Yes,” Cassandra said slowly, glaring at him. 

The rift was.. well.. a rift. Demons fell out of it. Tried to kill them. The travelers, in turn, tried to kill the demons with marginally more success. 

“Maker’s tears!” shouted the cult leader they had met at the gate, as they walked away from the freshly sealed rift covered in ichor and blood. “I was a fool to have doubted you! How may we serve you, Herald of Andraste?” _Again with the Herald of Andraste crap?_ Grumped Lani. _Did I not say five minutes ago I wasn’t the Herald?_

“A shower would be fantastic,” the elf rumbled under her breath. She hadn’t meant for anyone to hear it, but judging by the smirks on the dwarf’s and tall elf’s faces, they had heard just fine. Lavellan sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment, mulling over the best course of action. “Have the believers spread word of the Inquisition,” she said finally. “You will serve us best in that regard.” 

“As you say, Herald of Andraste,” the cultist bowed. “A few will remain here. The rest will go forth to do your will. When the Maker calls you to your great purpose, remember that we served you.”

“That was wise of you,” Solas said approvingly once they were several paces away. The dalish elf and her companions making for the local tavern.

“My advisors said to make connections,” she shrugged. “Look at me connecting.”

“You joke but Solas is right,” Cassandra said firmly. “These cultist, while not ideal, will help to further our reach.” 

“Rather thought that was the point,” Lani said shortly as they climbed the steps to the building’s upper level. Wood worn smooth ran under her hand as it glided over the railing. “I didn’t do anything special. Just closed a rift. This time there just happened to be people watching. The more people see us do good things, the more people willing to say good things about us. It’s just that simple.” 

“You say that, Vixen, but it is not always that simple,” Varric replied. “Sometimes….”

“You think I don’t know that, Varric,” she said rounding on him. On all of them. “Look at my face and tell me what you see? My ears?” Her temper was hot, flaring out of seemingly nowhere. “I… my clan, have spent years being always mindful of what people _see_ us do. We compete everyday with what people have _heard._ The horror stories of the _wild dalish._ Just ask Josephine. She can tell you all sorts of awful things the people are saying about my kind. Especially now. I was groomed to lead them, to help maintain and grow Clan Lavellan’s positive reputation.” She lifted the marked hand, showing it to them and gesturing vaguely above them at the sky. “Dirth ma, falon? How is this any different?” Cassandra and Varric seemed at a loss for words. 

“Ir abelas, Lavellan,” Solas soothed raising a apologetic hand to his chest. “We did not mean harm.”

“No… I… I am sorry,” Lani breathed, shoulders slumping as her rubbed at her face, fire gone. “You meant well and I appreciate that. I am glad that you approve of what I have accomplished here.” Cassandra stepped forward placing a hand on the elven woman’s shoulder. 

“We forget that you have had to fight this battle before,” the warrior said gently but firmly. “For us it is new. We should not be surprised that you have done so well in aiding our cause. Bettering our standing. And yet we are. It says more about us than it does you.” She smiled slightly. “You may have joined us under less than ideal conditions, but all the same, I am glad you are here.” Lani accepted her words with a quiet smile and bob of her head, the tension quickly fading.

“Come on,” Lavellan sighed changing the topic. “Lets see how much trouble we can get ourselves into before dark.”

A young man franticly paced the upper level of the tavern, muttering about his missing love. Lani had a slinking feeling as Varric asked the man his name. It confirmed the elf’s fears. Setting her pack on a nearby table, she dug in one pocket for a letter they had found on the body of a young woman. 

“I think this belongs to you,” she said gently handing the man the letter signed in his own name. “I’m afraid, she didn’t make it. I am sorry for your loss.”

“But it can’t be. She was supposed to come here. We were be taken in to the Maker’s light together.” The man stared heart broken at the bloodied paper. “What am I to do now?” 

“You could come work for us,” the elf offered. “Find new purpose there.” He met her eyes and nodded slowly. “When you’re ready, meet us at Haven,” she said resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Take whatever time you need.” Then they left him to his mourning.

To their luck, this was in fact the cult Hyndel had joined. They found him on one of the upper levels of the ruined castle pouring over books. 

“Hyndel?” Lani asked uncertainly.

“Yes?”

“Your father sent us to look for you.”

“Your mother isn’t doing well, kid.” Varric said softly. “She can’t breath.”

“But… but that hasn’t been a problem in years,” the young elf stammered, alarmed. He got up quickly, knocking over his chair in the process. “Come with me,” he said hastily. “I had some of the potion she needs already made. Just in case.” 

They followed him down the ladder to his simple quarters. There he flung open a cabinet and dug through his possessions. “Here. Take these,” he said shoving several small glass containers into Solas’s hands before darting over to a writing desk and shuffling through the papers on in. “Where is it? Where is it?” He muttered to himself in frantic frustration. “Ah!” He trust a paper at Lani.

“What’s this?” She asked taking it from him and studying it. 

“The recipe,” he said. “In case they need more and can’t find me.” 

“Any special instructions,”she asked folding the paper and tucking it snuggly into Solas’s offered pack beside the potion bottles. 

“No. It’s all there. Everything they need.” Lani nodded. “Please hurry,” Hyndel pleaded, his face contorted in concern. 

“We will get this to your father by nightfall today,” Cassandra assured.

“I.. Thank you,” he breathed, relaxing slightly though anxiety still pulled at his features. 

 

“Well,” Varric said as the four of them left the Keep. “That was eventful.”

“All in a day’s work,” Lani replied. 

“We should see about getting these potions back to the Cross Roads as soon as possible,” Solas said adjusting his bag carefully so as not to damage the contents. 

“Agreed.” 

“Cultists today. Grey Wardens tomorrow,” Varric sighed. “You remind me of Hawke sometimes. You know that, Vixen?”

“Thanks… I think,” Lavellan said giving him a befuddled look. “To be honest, I don’t really know how to take that.”

“Not sure how you should take it either,” he rumbled with a shrug. “But true all the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirth ma, falon= Tell me, friend  
> Ir abelas= I'm sorry


	28. In The Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall

Lani and her companions waded across the small stream to the island Leliana had marked on their map indicating where she believed they would find this mysterious Warden Blackwall. There they followed a set of wooden paths and bridges leading to a small hut and several gathered men. 

“Remember how to carry your shields,” Lani could hear the shorter bearded man shouting, as a general might instruct his soldiers before battle. “You’re not hiding. You’re holding. Otherwise, it’s useless.” 

“Blackwall?” the dalish woman asked tentatively as she approached the scene. “Warden Blackwall?”

“You’re not…” he started confused, stalking over to her. “How do you know my name? Who sent-?” He was cut off as an arrow came whistling from the sky. He raised his shield on reflex catching it before it could land with deadly precision. “That’s it! Help or get out,” he spat at Lani. “We’re dealing with these idiots first. Conscripts, here they come!”

Several men came charging over the low rise, splashing through the shallow water as they did so. Swords and voices raised. The Inquisition agents didn’t think twice, charging into battle along side the would be warriors and their gruff leader. The trespassers were more skilled than some foes they had faced and certainly more so than the ‘conscripts.’ As such the brunt of the battle fell to the dark haired, breaded man and those from the Inquisition. 

Lani and Solas tag teamed the bandits with fire and ice, Cassandra striking down and shattering those locked in Solas’s frozen grasp. Varric rained down arrows from a small hill a short distance away, wrecking merry havoc upon the men’s armor. 

It was neither the longest nor bloodiest battle they had faced. In truth, it hadn’t been much of a fight at all and was over quickly. Bodies strewn across the ground. To the dalish mage’s great surprise, all of the conscripts seemed to have survived relatively unharmed. 

“Sorry bastards,” the breaded man said, nudging a dead bandit with his toe before turning to his men. “Good work, Conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened, they could’ve…,” he paused sadly. “Well, thieves are made not born. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You’ve saved yourselves.” The men wandered off, backs a bit straighter, heads a bit higher. Their leader or trainer or whatever he had been turned to Lani, giving her an appraising once over. “You’re no farmer,” he said bluntly. “Why do you know my name? Who are ya?

“I’ve been called a lot of things lately by a lot of people,” Lavellan mused.

“Well, I’m talking to ya,” he said shortly. “Stop dancing.”

“We’re Inquisition,” said Cassandra from behind the elf. “Trying to find why the Wardens disappeared and if it had anything to do with the Divine’s murder.”

“Maker’s balls,” he growled disbelieving. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t… No. You’re asking so you don’t really know.” He turned his attention back to the elf before him. “First off, I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that right? No blight. Job done. Wardens are the first thing forgotten.” Blackwall stared them down fiercely. “But one thing I’ll tell you, no warden killed the Divine! Our purpose isn’t political.” 

“Not here to accuse,” the Herald said, raising a calming hand. “Not yet. I just need information. I’ve only found you. Where are the rest?” She glanced around them as if hoping more would appear. They didn’t.

“I haven’t seen any wardens for months,” he said. “I travel alone. Recruiting.” He shrugged. “Not much interest because the arch demon is a decade dead. And no need to conscript because there is no blight coming.” The short man walked to the water’s edges, watching it ripple as he spoke. “Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need.” The warden gestured at the lifeless bodies around them. “These idiots forced this fight so I conscripted their victims. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me.” he looked up, face wistful and distant. “Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are.”

“I wasn’t aware Grey Wardens can take whatever they want,” Lani said eyes narrowed in thought. 

“It’s complicated,” he admitted turning to face her. “If there’s a Blight, everyone has to help the effort to fight it. The treaties are ancient.” He sighed heavily. “Outside of Blights, it’s as binding as a clever tongue can make it.” 

“Do you have any idea where the other wardens could have gone?” Cassandra asked, arms crossing over her chest.  “Maybe they returned to our stronghold at Weisshaupt,” Blackwall shrugged. “That’s in the Anderfells, a long way north.” He shook his shaggy head. “I don’t really know. I can’t imagine why they’d all disappear at once. Let alone where they disappeared to.” 

“Why haven’t you gone missing like the rest of the Grey Warden?” asked Solas. 

“Well maybe I was going to,” the man grumbled. “Or maybe there’s a new directive but a runner got lost or something. My job was to recruit on my own.” His expression became distant. “Planned to stay that way for months. Years.” 

“Well, it’s been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall,” Lani said politely though she felt incredibly disappointed. “But this didn’t help at all.” She turned on her heel and made to leave, motioning for the others to follow, already trying to figure out what she would tell Leliana.

“Inquisition!” Blackwall shouted after them. “Agent, did you say? Hold a moment.” Lavellan stopped and turned back to him. He hurried to catch up. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn.” Lani watched him, eyebrows raising. “Events like these… thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.” He seemed to consider the matter for a moment before continuing. “If you’re trying to put things right maybe you need a warden. Maybe you need me.” 

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get,” Lani admit, arms moving at her sides in defeated frustration. “But what can one grey warden do?”

“Save the fucking world if pressed,” he grumbled at the green flecked sky. “Look,” he said flatly, “maybe fighting demons from the sky isn’t something I’m practiced at. But show me someone who is.”

“I don’t know, seems I’ve been doing it a lot lately,” she said sarcastically. He snorted a laugh, but continued.

“And like I said there are treaties.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, thinking as he spoke. “Maybe this isn’t a Blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a Warden means something to a lot of people.” The Herald mulled it over for a moment, studying his face hard. 

“Warden Blackwall,” she said finally through narrowed thoughtful eyes, “the Inquisition accepts your offer.” 

“Good to hear,” he smiled roughly. “We both need to know what’s going on. And perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.” He shook is hairy head. “Anyway. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”


	29. Veiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I deeply enjoyed writing this chapter. 
> 
> The agents of the Inquisition go to investigate Solas's artifact and meet a shady character along the way. Lines in the sand are drawn between a few party members on the topic of mages and Lani takes a stand against a fellow dalish.

Lavellan and her companions had finished up their quests around the Hinterlands and were making their way for the area Solas had guessed his artifact could be found. Lani was still fuming from their previous stop: returning a wedding band to a wrongfully widowed elven woman- her husband mistaken for a mage and killed by rogue templars. 

“So, _Apostates_ ,” Vivienne said through pursed lips, staring hard at the back of the elves’ heads. She spoke it as though it were an insult. “If the Circle is such a failure, what would be your solution? Would you have your fellow mages live among the people unguarded, unwatched?”

“Yes,” Solas said simply.

“Every person alive has the potential to do harm, _Enchanter_ ,” Lani snarled. “Should we lock up every man, woman, and child simply for existing? Because they may, not will- _may_ , one day break a law or hurt another person?”

“The Chant is clear on mages, Herald,” Cassandra said warningly.

“The Chant. Herald.” The elven woman glared forward as they walked. “Yours is not the only religion, Seeker,” she chided. “I see no reason why my people, my kind, must be bound, hunted, and imprisoned for no other reason than _your_ superstitions.”

“And when they became possessed or used their power to harm?” Vivienne asked.

“I would kill them.”

“Magic is more elegant than blade or a bow, but a murderer remains a murderer,” Solas agreed firmly.

“You alone would pass judgement then?” Vivienne mocked. “Repay murder with murder? Or do we open this up to mobs or vigilantes?”

“And what exactly do you call us, Vivienne?” Lavellan asked her. “Given what we have done here, what our organization is founded on, are we not vigilantes?”

“If you are going to dispense justice against violent mages yourself, you’ll need eternal life and omniscience,” the tall woman shot back.

“There are individuals dedicated to finding and eliminating such criminals already,” Cassandra pointed out. 

“Perhaps _they_ might help,” Vivienne said with an ever so polite sneer. 

“I am certain they would,” remarked Solas cooly. “Until black and white distinctions perverted their simple minds.” 

“They killed a man for digging up a stump, Cassandra!” Lani hissed through locked teeth, tightly shut eyes pointed skyward, fist clenched at her sides. “Cut him down in cold blood. Punched an old woman, a leader of your precious Chantry, in the head in front of a crowded capital market. Are part of a war no one wants that is tearing apart Thedas. _Both_ sides killing innocent people left and right. Yet, for some reason, no one is suggesting we throw the templars in towers and lock the doors behind them.”

“She has a point, Seeker,” Solas said to the brooding warrior. “Look at what the templars have done here. In Val Royeaux. Across Thedas. Are they really any better? Any less dangerous?”

“ _You_ killed those men today, Lavellan,” Cassandra pointed out darkly. “Stuck them down by your own hand.” The elven woman stopped and turned to her, eyes shining with controlled fury.

“Should I be cast down then? Thrown in a Circle or killed? Perhaps made Tranquil?” Lani said, frustration coloring her words. “I dare say they had it coming. It is no different than the scores of apostates we have killed for similar crimes, yet you have made no comment about that.” The Seeker met the elf’s gaze squarely, locking them in a battle of wills. Cassandra turned away first. 

“Perhaps there is fault on both sides,” she conceded heavily. Vivienne glared disapprovingly behind them “Still there is nothing we can do about it now. Maybe the future will hold better answers.”

 

The group travelled the rest of the way in uneasy silence. Not far from their destination, they encountered a scout who warned them of odd ‘bandits’ in the area. Odd was rather par for the course these days so Lani thought little of it. Still she moved cautiously, studying the trail ahead carefully and taking cover in the shadows where ever possible. It did not take long to find the bandits the scout had mentioned. 

It was true they were a might more well organized than the others they had encountered in the area, but they fell like any other, unsure how to handle a prepared foe. And certainly not three well trained mages, one already angsty Seeker, and the companions that came after intending to rendezvous with the Herald and make camp. 

The wide, sheltered clearing between jagged rock walls the bandits had claimed now stood empty. A useful outpost location for the budding Inquisition and a fine spot to rest come evening.

“Too easy,” lamented Sera, ripping a arrow roughly from a dead bandit’s back. “Pish.”

“At least we found a good place for another camp,” the dalish elf shrugged nonchalantly. “Solas, are we in the right area?” The tall elven man nodded.

“According to my research, yes. Ancient elves may have set up wards near here. If we can find the artifacts they used it may help strengthen this area against tears.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Lani sighed. 

New outpost marked, a small team ventured onward in search of the artifact. Vivienne, Blackwall and Varric stayed behind to make camp. 

A short way up the road, the four agents came across long forgotten ruins and a dalish mage seemingly over her head in a battle against demons. Solas, Lani, and Cassandra exchanged a look before rushing forward to her aid. 

Sera lodged complaints about there being ‘more bloody demons’ and ‘elfy elves,’ but her bow began singing all the same. There was possibly something about ‘magey shite’ too, but it was muffled by the explosion of power that arched out from the Herald. 

Fire, ice, and arrows rained down on the corrupted spirits. Cassandra slammed a wraith away from the struggling mage with such violent force it was thrown from the ruins, slamming hard into a crumbling stone wall and collapsing into nothing. 

Lani whirled, thumping her staff against the ground and releasing a bolt of lightning at the nearest beast. It spun toward her in rage, slithering her direction with its long clawed hands extended. She pointed her staff at it and bellowed. The creature ignited, clawing its withered grey hide in terror. 

“You’re scary sometimes, Herald,” Sera shouted. “Ya know that right?”

“Two rules,” Lani shot back, eyes never leaving from the fray. “Don’t be a demon. Don’t try to kill me or mine. Follow those and you’ll be fine.”

Solas worked his way over to her, shoulders pressing against hers as their movements synced. Staffs twirled perilously close to one another but missed without fail. Lani felt him rock back on his heel, pressing into her as he released a burst of magic, hearing the distinctive tinkling of shattering ice. 

“You really need to teach me that trick,” she called over her shoulder, not even needing to look to know the mage had exploded his unfortunate foe into frozen chucks. Solas laughed. The sound was deep; half growl, half snarl, and twisted around the edges. She felt it across her back more than heard it and it sent a small thrill to her core. 

Cassandra twisted, spun, and charged in an intricate dance of shining metal and sweeping ichor. Her face locked in the fierce snarl she always wore in combat. Eyes ablaze as she shouted, “Maker take you!” The woman was graceful, powerful, strong. One deadly upward sword stroke spinning and coming down on a different enemy. Her shield flashed out, forcing a creature into a bow as her blade swept down, severing its head from its shoulders. Her momentum never slowed as she struck out at the next demon that dare near her.

“Andran Atishan,” the new comer wheezed after the last wraith had fallen. The travelers gathered around her. “I did not expect to see another dalish blood near here,” she said studying Lavellan’s face in surprise. 

“We do tend to show up in the oddest places,” the Herald replied, eliciting a a snort and ‘fair enough’ head nod from the elf. 

“My name is Mihris,” she said straightening, leaning heavily on her staff, and eyeing the the agents of the Inquisition thoughtfully. “By your weapons, I see you come ready for battle. Perhaps we face a common enemy in these demons.” 

“There may be truth in that. Are you here fighting the demons on your own?” asked Lani politely, eyeing the new comer in return. She did not know what to make of the tired dalish mage. Something seemed off about her.

“Fighting the demons is pointless,” Mihris sighed exasperatedly gesturing up at the Breach. “There will always be more. I have no means of closing the rifts. But I have heard of elven artifacts that measure the veil. They may tell us where new rifts will appear.” 

Mihris steadied a hand on one hip as she rested against the ancient stone pillar once more, bending forward slightly in an attempt to calm her still labored breathing. Short cropped pale, almost white hair falling over her face and the vallaslin of Dirthamen- the Secret Keeper. 

“I was not expecting quite so many demons, however,” Mihris breathed. She glanced up at Lani, meeting her gaze. “I believe one of the artifacts is nearby. Can you help me reach it?”  “You didn’t answer my question,” Lani pointed out bluntly, eyebrows lowered as she stared hard at the elf. “Though this artifact sounds like it is worth investigating.”

“I… yes. Well…Thank you for joining me,” the other elf deflected, looking away. “I don’t think I could have done this alone.” 

“How did you come to be here?” Lani asked, suspicion and curiosity now clear in her tone.

“I was - am - First of Clan Virnehn,” the pale haired dalish began. “I left in service of my clan and saw that great tear in the Veil on my journey.” She gestured once more to the Breach.

“I know that particular tale well,” Lavellan said wearily. 

“I know more of magic and the Veil than any shemlen,” Mihris stated confidently. “So I hoped to help.”

“Ma harel, da’len,” said Solas in a low growl, staring pointedly at the mage. 

It was both a warning and a threat, something Lani was not used to hearing so plainly from the man. She spared a glance in his direction and his narrowed eyes met hers with an all but imperceptible shake of his head. He too believed the new comer was being illusive. Good to know, thought Lani.

“I…. we should keep moving,” Mihris said quickly, caught somewhat off guard by the barefaced elven man’s words and casting a nervous glance between him, the Herald, and the Seeker who had pick up on the Inquisition mages’ tension.

Lavellan made no comment. She simply turned on her heel and began walking toward the collapsed cave entrance Mihris indicated. Cassandra came up beside her. 

“Is something the matter?” she whispered under her breath to the elven woman, keeping her eyes and head forward so as not to arouse suspicion.

“I don’t trust her,” Lani murmured back. “Keep a quiet eye on her, would you?” The Seeker nodded once and fell back a few paces, taking up the rear of the little procession, hand resting causally on the hilt of her sword. 

“We’ll need focused magical energy to get by,” the pale haired elf said behind them studying the massive fallen stones that blocked the cave’s opening. 

“Cause that’s not weird,” muttered Sera.

“You. Flat-ear,” Mihris barked at Solas, voice dipping with contempt. “Can you manage it?” 

Lavellan’s head turned ever so slowly to face her, teeth baring in a silent snarl. Solas raised his hand in a placating gesture, stilling the Herald. Quiet rage seethed within her, no doubt coloring her ears and cheeks. Sparks danced in her eyes at the slur, but she made no comment, biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Even Cassandra tensed, aware that Solas had been insulted if not fully understanding the exchange. 

To Mihris he said calmly, “Ma nuvenin, da’len.” 

The sarcasm in his voice was hard to mistake as he strode forward and lifted the forbidding stones with no apparent effort. Mihris’s lips pursed, but she said nothing, pushing past him roughly and into the room beyond, disturbing several shades in the process.

Lani couldn’t help but think Clan Virnehn might be bettered served by a different First. Perhaps a less foolish one. She was dubious this elf would turn out to be a competent Keeper. 

The group settled into an uneasy silence as they explored the area. Sera so incredibly unnerved by the mages and their surroundings that she hid behind her bow, seemingly no longer able to come up with any witty or snarky commentary.

Lani found an empty brazier on one dusty stone wall. It differed from most standard sconces, an odd aura surrounding it. She brushed the cobwebs from it gently, lifted a hand to feel the air, and found that it pushed against her. With an effort of will it ignited, filling the chamber in ghostly pale green light. 

“What manner of fire is that?” asked Cassandra.

“I have heard of this but never seen it before,” Solas said coming to stand beside Lavellan, studying the strange flames that licked the torch she now carried. “It is called veil fire. It is a form of sympathetic magic,” he explained passing a hand through the blaze and showing them all that he remained unharmed. “A memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin.”

“It is lovely,” Lani said with an awed smile. “New favorite torch.”

“You’re mental,” Sera managed to squeak. “Both of you.”

“Meh. I’ve been called worse,” shrugged the Herald. Turning to the stairs and beginning down them. Green light in hand she called, “Come on. Let’s see what’s here.”

What was there was a lot of shades, a few wraiths, and couple of demons. _I really need to stop setting myself up for this,_ Lani grumbled inwardly. The cave chamber was filled with flashing light of many colors as the mages set to casting, Solas and Lani doing the brunt of the magical work. Arrows whizzed overhead from shadows that no doubt hid Sera. Cassandra’s battle cry echoing off the damp walls as she charged. In that moment, Lani Lavellan was thankful that she could see in the dark better than most. Otherwise, Cassandra would have gotten a bit more toasty than she probably would have preferred.

Sera let out a terrified yelp from somewhere to Solas's left and he spun, sending up an ice wall between her and the demon that had knocked her to the floor.

“Sera!” He shouted. “Are you all right?” Sera scrambled back from the wall hurriedly, bow scrapping against the floor. He cast a barrier around her. 

“Gah! Yeah,” she called. “Cut it with the glowy shite though. Makes my skin all tingly.” The tall elf sighed, shaking his head as he searched for a new target. 

On the far side of the chamber, Lani and Cassandra tag teamed a demon. They worried it one direction and then the next, the Herald capturing its attention long enough for the Seeker to deal the deathblow from behind. 

“We’re near another artifact,” Solas said panting as he trotted over to Lavellan, rethreading his staff through the straps on his pack, fighting finished. The elf of Clan Lavellan paced over to the oddly shaped object and rested her marked hand against the curved surface. It flared to life at her touch. “Yes,” Solas exhaled, relieved. “The wards are helping to strengthen the Veil. This area should be safer.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lani breathed, head bowed in exhaustion from the battle.

“There,” Mihris said from behind them. “If we activate that crystal it should react to the strength of the Veil.” The aforementioned crystal flickered awake in the relative darkness. “Well that should prove useful,” she chirped happily. “Oh! And it seems the ancestors left something for me as well! Interesting.” 

The elf lifted a small object, closing it in a concealing fist. She was clearly pleased and it would not have surprised Lani one bit if this had all been a ruse to acquire whatever it was the shifty woman had just found. Mihris rose quickly, words falling from her lips in a hasty rush as she turned to leave. 

“I believe our alliance is concluded. Go in peace, stranger.” Lavellan glanced at Solas, expression hard. A flick of an eyebrow indicating he should respond. He nodded once, the faintest of sneers upon his lips.

"Ma halani,” he said. Voice deep and low. Mihris stopped in her tracks a few strides away. “Ma glandival. Vir enasalin.”

“I…” she started defensively, but then her head bowed in defeat and shame. “Perhaps you are right. Here take it.” She dropped what appeared to be an amulet to the stone floor without so much as turning to them. “Go with Mythal’s blessing.” She made to keep walking, but this time Lavellan called out to her.

“First of Clan Virnehn,” she stated firmly. “As First of Clan Lavellan, I take it as a personal insult that you would refer to one of mine as ‘flat-ear.’ In so doing you dishonor and disgrace Our People.”

“He is not _true elf_ ,” Mihris snarled, whipping around to face her. “Nor is that one.” She gestured with her chin to the archer still lingering in the shadows.

“Like I’d want to be,” Sera mumbled to no one in particular, not bothering to look up from the pile she dug through. 

Lavellan’s expression darkened dangerously. She turned abruptly on her toe and strode over to Solas, studying his ears with exaggerated interest- even reaching up to run her cool fingers lightly over the tip of one. Solas, for his part, remained still and relaxed, observing the exchange, tipping his head to afford the Herald a better view.

“Odd. His ears seem perfectly pointed to me, _Lethallan_ ,” she said bluntly. Subtle scathing emphasis on the last word implied she and Mihris were _nothing_ like kin. “Not flattened or clipped or docked in the slightest.” She turned back to the Clan Virnehn First, eyes glowing in dim light. “Perhaps you should ask a healer to examine your eyes.”  

“My eyes are just fine for I see he bares no vallaslin,” the pale haired elf growled. “He is _not_ of Our People.”

“Solas has saved _your_ life and aided in _your_ mission,” the Herald said unyielding. “He has acted honorably where you have not. He is worthy of your respect. You lessen _yourself_ with your insults. Not him.” Mihris’s nostrils flared in anger. Lavellan stared her down in cold challenge. “On top of that, I say he is our kin and that is all that need concern you. The only ones you have shamed here are yourself and your clan. Is that how you wish represent Clan Virnehn? Is that what _your_ people stand for?”

Mihris’s cheeks flushed like a child’s when scowled though her eyes remained hot. 

“Ir abelas, hahren,” she spat with out looking at Solas, eyes never leaving Lani’s. The words seemed to choke the woman. “For whatever insult I have given you.” Then the worshipper of Dirthamen turned, stalked up the stairs, and was gone. 

“Good riddance,” mumbled Sera. “She should be happy to still have her breeches if you ask me. Pish. Elfy elves, yeah?” 

Cassandra glared after the pale haired dalish First then turned to Solas.

“What did you say to her that made her drop… what ever that was?” Solas peered at the Seeker pensively before responding. 

“Essentially? ‘My help. My reward. That is the path to victory.’” Cassandra’s brow furrowed in thought.

“It is an old elvhen saying,” Lavellan explained over her shoulder as she moved forward to pick up what Mihris had dropped. “From long before any of my people can remember.” She knelt, examining the trinket carefully before reaching out a hand to touch it lightly. “Mihris asked for our help. As such there was debt to be paid. Especially given her lack of candor,” she added darkly, returning to them with the amulet dangling from her palm. “She should simply have been happy with the role she played.”

“I see,” Cassandra said nodding. “And that?” She motioned to the necklace in the Herald’s grasp.

“Is for you,” said Lavellan holding the amulet of power out to Solas. Letting the cool chain pool in in his palm. “I think you are most deserving of it, given our temporary companions utter lack of manners. Enjoy.”

“I… Thank you, Herald,” he said bowing slightly, mildly surprised though pleased. “For this and for your defense of me. Neither was necessary.”

“Too you maybe,” said Lani fiercely. Her features were still stained with anger though it was fading fast. “I do not take kindly to such terms no matter whom they are directed at, Solas. And certainly not when it is at people I respect. She needed a lesson in decorum, especially as a Clan First.” The elven woman shrugged. “Plus, and while it might be petty I don’t really care, I find satisfaction in giving to you something she was undeserving of but clearly wanting.” Solas let out a breathy snort and smirked, dipping his head to her in acknowledgement. “Also it seems to suit your particular skill set most.” And indeed she was right, though that did not come as mush of a surprise to the elvhen man. He had known what it was the instant he saw it. 

“You are referring to when she called him a ‘flat-ear,’” Cassandra said glancing between the two elves. “I have heard the term before but… what does it mean exactly?” Lani’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking into the middle distance.

“It is a term used by some _indecent_ dalish elves to refer to city elves,” Lani said flatly. “Ones they feel have ‘surrendered’ their culture. Submitted to man. Lost their ‘elfyness,’ as Sera would say.” 

“Too many elfy elves anyway, if you ask me,” Sera called from the corner where she was rummaging.

“I didn’t,” the Herald replied mildly, rolling her eyes.

“It implies that I have cut off my ears in order to appear more human,” Solas said, eyeing the Herald thoughtfully, voice far more even than hers had been. The Seeker’s eyes widened.

“That is…” she spluttered. 

“Barbaric? Unbecoming? Vile? Inappropriate?” Lani offered, eye brow quirking, head titling back and forth just a touch with each word, lip puffed out in mock thought. She met Cassandra’s eyes evenly. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“And _that_ is part of the reason you won’t see me hanging around the really elfy types,” said Sera joining them, a heavy sack of Creators-know-what slung over one shoulder. “Except you, Lady Herald Person. You aren’t so bad. Yet.” Lani rolled her eyes, but there was little heat in it. 

“Thank you, Sera. I think.” Lani shifted her own pack, hefting it further up her shoulders. “Come on, gang. I’m tired. Let’s get out of here.”

“Damn right,” Sera shuddered. “I’ve had enough of this magey shite for one day.”

“You _are_ aware you’re traveling with two mages, correct?” Solas asked as he slipped the amulet around his neck for temporary safe keeping until he could unlock its power properly. “And that a third awaits us at camp?”

“Duh,” she said as if he were daft. “But I don’t have to think about it when you aren’t doing… stuff.” She stopped, peering at him suspiciously. “You’re not, right? Doing ‘it’ right now?” Solas’s eyebrows rose and he favored her with a slowly spreading, sly, toothy grin. She stared at him hard for a moment, unsure, and then shook herself. “Ug. You’re weird yeah. You know that, right?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said proudly as they climbed up the steps and into the fading sunlight outside. 

“Children,” Lani said in rumbling teasing warning. “Don’t make me come back there.” Sera blew a huge wet raspberry at the back of her head. “Precious. Isn’t she simply precious, Cassandra?” Sarcasm soaked her every word. “I don’t know what we would ever do without her.” 

The Seeker let out a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes. Lavellan beamed. Solas snickered. 

“There’s sumthin’ not right about you lot,” the elven archer said eyeing them each in turn. “Just not right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andran Atishan= formal dalish greeting  
> Ma harel, da'len= trickier phrase with two possible translations though in this context I see it as: "You are deceiving me, child/young one." However, it is possible to translate it as "Fear me, little one."   
> Ma nuvenin, da'len= As you wish, child  
> Ma halani. Ma glandival. Vir enasalin= This is a bit flaky on the translation and can be interpreted in so very many ways, but I see it as "My help. My reward. That is the way to victory."   
> Ir abelas, hahren= I am sorry, elder


	30. An Unexpected Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas discovers Lavellan's wolfish secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'll stop now. This seems a good place to leave off for a day or three. I've been itching to post this chapter basically from the moment I wrote it, but there was just so much that came before. Anyway, thanks for reading. 
> 
> I hope to finish through red future Redcliffe soon and the arrival at Skyhold shortly after that. So be looking for the start of that in the next week or so. I can't wait to get into the meat of Solas and Lavellan's relationship either. I have so much planned.

Solas awoke to a beam of sunlight peaking through a hole in the tent landing squarely across his closed eyelids. He grunted, annoyed at having been pulled from his dreams, and rolled away from the light. 

Something tickled his nose. 

Assuming it was merely a few strands of Lani’s loose hair, he made to brush it away lightly. These things happened when sleeping in close quarters with someone and so it did not bother him over much. However, when his fingers brushed the source of his disturbance, he found not stray hair, but fur. Thick, soft fur. Solas opened his eyes abruptly and was even more surprised to find himself laying side-by-side, not with the bronze haired elf he expected, but rather a massive white wolf. Its chin rested on the Herald’s pillow with one dark paw draped over its muzzle blocking the same light that had stirred him from sleep. Carefully, he withdrew far enough to study the beast in full. 

Pale fur covered the majority of its body or at least what he could see of it given that it was partially covered by dalish elf’s blankets. _Odd._ What wasn’t white was black or shifting between the two; inky fur ran up its legs - black at the paw fading to silver then white just above the second joint. Ebony edged in soft grey graced the end of its muzzle and the tips of its ears and tail. The thick ruff of fur about the wolf’s neck and shoulders was white though flecked at the ends in dark hues of silver and raven black. It was a beautiful specimen to say the least.

Surely, if the beast had attacked Lani during the night, the commotion would have woken him or the others. He was not _that_ deep a sleeper. Also he would expect there to be more of a… _mess._ The tent was otherwise exactly how he expected it.

As he watched, the great canine stretched, yawned, and rolled onto its side, chest facing him. From that angle, Solas could make out the abalone shell necklace nestled against the fur of the big wolf’s neck. He smiled broadly. 

_Lavellan is of wolven kin,_ he mused, brows lifting. Fen’lin or Fen’len, depending upon who you asked, possessed an old magic. One he had thought was all but extinct in modern Thedas. Save for himself, of course. Then again _he_ was not of modern Thedas. Still, it was not overly common in the time of Elvhenan either. Their Herald was apparently far more special than she had let on. 

“Lavellan? Wake up,” he said resting one hand on her furry shoulder shaking her gently. Lavellan the wolf let out a small plaintiff sound and his smile grew. “Wake up, da’fen.” Solas remembered then that in the memory of Starkhaven the Herald’s father had called her “Ma’fen.” He had thought little of it besides an odd endearment- the man had called her “Fenria” rather than Lani as well after all- but it made a great deal more sense now. 

One bleary eye blinked open, squinting against the light. They were her eyes. Vibrantly green and flecked in warm gold, though the pupil was canid rather than elven. 

“Good morning, Herald,” Solas smiled brightly. “You’re looking quite wolfish today.” 

Lani’s eyes flew open, wide with sudden shock and fear as she glanced at her paws. Her head darted this way and that as she examined herself, keening softly. 

“Lavellan?” Solas asked his grin fading, voice tilting to worry. She began to shift, the small canid whine becoming a whispered series of oaths and prayers. “Lavellan?” Solas asked again more firmly, becoming alarmed at her distress.

“Oh no no no…” she said weakly. “Creators, no! You were never meant to know. No ones was. Oh what must you think of me now?” The words were quiet, muffled as she sat beside him, face buried in her hands. 

Solas straightened, crossing his legs. He took her hands in his, gently lowering them to reveal the terror stained face below. He searched her expression, drawing her eyes to his.

“Lavellan? Are you all right?” His forehead knit in genuine concern. She flinched at his touch as if she expected to be hit. His stomach twisted. “Lani?” His use of her given name seemed to jar her senses and she glanced up at him, eyes reddening around the edges. 

“You were never supposed to know,” she whispered in pained defeat. “None of you were.”

“That you can become a wolf?” Solas asked, brow lowering as he studied her, head tilting to the side. She nodded, eyes downcast. “It is a remarkable skill to have,” he said earnestly. “One of great value that could prove an priceless asset…”

“No!” she gasped, eyes flying wide once more. The force of the look stopping him cold. “Please. Please don’t tell them!” Her voice an anxious plea. Breathless with worry. “They might… they might…” 

Whatever it was they might do she was too frightened to say, her body trembling like a child’s. He had never seen her so genuinely afraid, so vulnerable. She had hidden much her fears and anxiety beneath snark, sarcasm, and wit. It unsettled him to see her like this. 

“Hush, da’len,” he said firmly, squeezing her hands in his, breaking her panic before it could fully set in. “I will not tell them or anyone if you do not want me too. You have nothing to fear from me.” She visibly relaxed. Letting out a long breath, steadying herself. The icy fingers clutched in his still shaking.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered, relief soaking the words. “I must seem so foolish to you.” She shook her head, loose hair falling around her shoulders and face. He noted the dark tips of it aligned with the wolf’s pattern. He suppressed a smirk. 

“You seem someone with secrets you would rather have kept,” he said gently drawing her face up to look at him, one long finger hooked under her chin. “I can understand this. And empathize. I will not take advantage of an honest slip, especially when it is clearly something of such great importance to you,” he said holding her gaze that she might feel, as well as hear, the honestly of his voice. “We will act as though it never occurred and not speak of it again if you so choose.” Her eyes searched his and found them clear and unyielding.

“I would… greatly appreciate your discretion in this matter,” she said finally. 

“Then you shall have it.” He dipped his head to her, releasing his grip on her hand and chin. “Shall we see about making some breakfast before the others get up?” He asked lightly as though they had just now awoken. 

“I’d like that,” she said though she worried her lower lip. “Give me a few minutes… to pull myself together and I’ll come help you.” He nodded and rose, pulling on his robe and belting it in place over his tunic even as he moved for the tent’s entrance flap. 

“Solas?”

“Yes, Lavellan?”

“Thanks. Again,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done if it had been one of the others…” He raised a hand to cut her off. 

“Think of it no further. It is done.” He gave her one last reassuring smile and slipped outside. 

Lani stared down at the hands in her lap, willing her heartbeat back to its normal rhythm. That could have been much worse, but still it should not have happened at all. She had grown too comfortable with her companions and her control was slipping. How many times had she been chased out because of her ability? Threatened? Met with distrust? Even by those whom she had thought friends? _Far too many,_ she sighed shaking her head. While she had grown fond of some those around her, she couldn’t be sure of how they would react to _the wolf._ Especially, after she had kept it from them for so long. She knew how many dalish had reacted and those memories alone were enough to give her pause. 

At least it had been Solas who discovered her secret. Not Cassandra who may well have run her through without stopping to ask questions first or Varric who… come to think of it she wasn’t sure _what_ Varric would have done. 

Solas was an odd man. Often absorbed in his own world. She had grown to respect him, was fond of him even. She enjoyed his stories, his wisdom, his company. Found comfort in his familiarity. She believed Solas when he said he would not speak of this to anyone. Was gratefully for his discretion. Grateful that he was content to leave her be with her secrets, to accept that her reasons were her own and to leave it at that. She rubbed her face banishing the last vestments of sleep and worry and made ready for the day. 

She willed a small spark of power into her necklace and was greeted with a comforting peach glow in response. It helped to calm her rattled nerves.

Outside the others were stirring, voices speaking groggy morning greeting as they moved about the camp. She pulled on the last of her gear, took a deep breath, and exited the tent.

“Good morning, Vixen,” Varric yawned. “Sleep well?”

“Apart from an overactive sun beam waking me prematurely, yeah.”

“Come now, you shouldn’t talk about Chuckles like that. You’ll ruin his doom and gloom reputation.” 

“There is a giant whole in the sky, Master Tethras,” Solas said dryly as he handed Lani a bowl of warm soup, giving her a small encouraging smile. “It’ll take a lot more than that to ruin my fatalistic standing.” 

“True that, Chuckles. True that.”

With that a new day began, no one the wiser about the wolf in their midst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fen'lin= wolf blood  
> Fen'len= wolf child  
> Da'fen= little wolf  
> Ma'fen= my wolf


	31. A Brief Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick stop back at Haven before the agents of the Inquisition head to the Storm Coast.
> 
> Cats are ever so helpful creatures.

Valen, the not so tiny cat, sat patiently on Lani’s bed, eyeing her sternly as she moved about the room muttering to herself. The elf had unceremoniously dumped out her pack on the floor of the tiny cabin, pilfering the contents for anything she may need on their excursion to the Storm Coast. The group had only just arrived in Haven late the previous night, but the advisors wanted them back on the road as soon as possible. Tomorrow, in fact. 

“Haven. Hinterlands. Haven. - Ooo can’t forget this.” Something got stuffed in a pocket of her bag. “Val royeaux. Haven. Hinterlands again. -Where is that damn… Ah found it!” She held a book triumphantly over her head before shoving it roughly the bag. Valen sighed heavily, an ear quirking. “Today, Haven. Tomorrow, the Storm Coast. And not a solid week’s break anywhere in there. Not even counting those blizzards we had.” 

The cat hopped lightly from the bed and paced over to his claimed elf. He delicately climb her bag, settling himself squarely in the center of the half filled main compartment, stared her straight in the eye, and yawned. Theatrically. The elven woman’s eyes narrow. 

“You are more than welcome to come with, but you have to pack your own bag.” The cat eyed her distastefully then began dutifully cleaning one white tipped paw. “Also I hear it is damp and cold on the coast. Might want to pack a parka.” Valen gave a dismissive flick if his tail and sneezed. “I completely agree.” Lani scratched him gently beneath the chin eliciting a deep rumbling purr. The dark faced feline stretched up, placing a forepaw on either of the elf’s shoulders and rubbed his forehead forcefully against her neck and cheek. “You ever grow into those whiskers of yours,” Lani chuckled, “and I’ll have to haul in whole sheep for your dinners.”

It was true. In the weeks he had haunted the Inquisition, Valen had grown a significant amount. The feline was well on his way to being among the largest of his kind, certainly the largest in Haven and he was still too young to truly call an ‘adult.’ But he was a welcome sight for many of the village’s residences. Catching mice and other vermin, frolicking with the little ones, making sure Leliana’s reports didn’t fly away by dutifully sitting on them, not to mention helping Lady Montilyet greet guests as they arrived. Valen was a busy little spook, it would seem. Or so the Herald had been told. 

Lani took a moment to fold the spare clothing on her bed she intended to pack as well as reroll her camp bedding before returning to her sack. 

“As cute as you are, I would greatly appreciate it if you would move.” The blue eyed cat stared at her, blinked once, and stretched out comfortably in the half packed bag. “Oh for… come on, fuzzball.” 

The Herald reached in, extracted the cat- all eight or so pounds of which went utter limp in her hands in protest, and set him gentle on the floor beside her. He let out a disgruntled sound of disapproval and chirped angrily at her. She snorted, returning to her task.

In the time it took Lani to rotate, scoop up her clothing, and turn back to the bag, Valen was resettling himself within it. The elf pursed her lips. The cat purred smugly. 

“Fine then. Be that way,” the elf snarked. “I’ll just go tell Leliana and Josephine that I can’t go because _you_ said so. I’m sure that will go over wonderfully.” Valen gave a happy little mew and rumbled all the louder as he snuggled down for what Lani was sure would be a fine nap by his standards. “You are impossible. Adorable and impossible.”

“He is a cat,” a voice behind her said by way of explanation, a soft chuckle behind the words. “It is in his nature.” Lani jumped.

“Ah. Solas,” said the Herald rising, dusting off her hands on her leggings as she went. “What can I do for you?” 

“I was on my way up to the Tavern and was wondering if you would care to join me?”

“Oooo a date?” she asked quirking an eyebrow playfully. 

“Not exactly,” he said with a quiet smile. “Master Tethras, Lady Cassandra, and… Sera will be coming as well. Possibly even Warden Blackwall.”

“I see. So it is to be a party then?” He shrugged a shoulder and waited. “A meal would be splendid,” Lani sighed to herself. It would likely be a a while before they got another one that didn’t involve a camp fire. Not that she minded such things, but a roof and fine music and food she didn’t have to cook where a nice luxury. “Well, considering my packing has been interrupted,” she glared at the cat, who, in turn, ignored her completely- deep rumbling purr becoming a sleepy hum, “I would love to. Just let me clean this mess up a bit first.”


	32. Spies and Body guards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull! And Krem! Yay!

“Creators! They weren’t kidding when they named this place the Storm Coast,” Lani shouted to her companions over the whistling wind as they made their way down a rain washed trail. They had been soaked and shivering before they even made it the area where The Iron Bull and his men were supposed to be waiting and according to Scout Harding, this storm was relatively unremarkable. _I really hate this job sometimes,_ thought the drenched Herald. 

“Might I suggest we move more quickly,” called Solas, pulling his dripping robes tighter about himself. The deep hood over his face flapped violently in a gust, flinging water in all directions. 

“And here I thought we’d take our time and stroll around a bit,” the elven woman called back sarcastically. “You know, really explore the place.”

“I think I’m going to have to side with Chuckles on this one,” Varric said stumbling as a stiff gust caught him, knocking him off balance. 

“Oh all right,” Lani sighed in theatrical mock disappointment. “You guys are no fun.” 

The small group pulled their hoods lower, bound their jackets tighter, and braced themselves against the elements as they made their way into the valley. Thankfully, the wind was less hostile at lower altitudes. The rains came and went and came again, mists rising and falling in their wake. 

“Ahead! Fighting!” Lani shouted as they neared the coastline. There was little need to unstrap her staff as she had been using it for balance much of the day on the steep slick cliffs of the area.

“Maker, _how_ can she tell?” the dwarf called up to Solas as they hurried to keep pace with Cassandra and the Herald. “I can’t see or hear anything!” 

“Our Herald is a woman of many talents,” replied Solas, allowing himself a small private smile. 

“No kidding.” 

As they rounded the bend, grass and mud turned to loose pebbles beneath their feet. The sounds of fighting audible to all of them now. Not far down the beach, figures were taking form in the mists. The tall, broad, horned shape of a qunari easy to spot among the battling silhouettes. 

“It must be the Chargers,” Cassandra shouted. She put on a burst of speed and launched herself into the fray with a battle cry, slamming hard into a foe and sending him tumbling end over end before he even knew she was there.

Lani skidded to a stop in the loose stones not far from the skirmish, bracing herself and unleashing the torrent of electric power she had been building over the last several moments. Her aim was true. Lighting arched from one Tevinter mercenary to another, electrifying a pool three of them stood in and illuminating the area with dazzling light for a brief moment. The dalish woman couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the great bull of a man let out a roar of approving laughter as the men fell. 

_The Iron Bull,_ she mused looking at him. He was tall- between seven and eight feet _without_ the horns- and broad chested, at least two or three or maybe even four times her width. Lani was fairly sure she could have worn one of his pant legs as an oversized dress. Heavy black tattoos trailed over the deep grayish tan skin of his shoulder and arm. His left eye was covered by a dark patch bound in place by his horns. And his horns! _They must be where he gets the name,_ she thought. They went out horizontally far as his shoulders were wide before turning upward and continuing almost another entire foot, ending in wicked looking points.

Cassandra took up position near the qunari and a soldier Lani recognized as the one who had come to Haven. The three of them put back to back to back in a deathly triangle of blade and shield and axe, hacking and slashing at their would-be attackers. 

The Chargers were well trained, working seamlessly and adjusting their tactics to account for the new arrivals. Solas and Lani threw barriers down over as many allies as they could. The ranged Chargers, of whom there seemed to be a good mix, picked off mercenaries with deathly precision.

An attacker made for the back of one of the archers and may have gotten the upper hand had Solas not sent a bolt of ice hurtling at her chest, sending her off target and tumbling to the earth. The archer wheeled around, ending the woman with a dagger thrust before she could rise. 

Lani ignited the area around the feet of several mercenaries. Varric sent one of his special arrows soaring through the high violet flames, making its explosion all the more powerful when it landed. The Chargers picked up on the tactic quickly, angling their arrows to arch through the fires created by Lani and… _did the Chargers have a mage as well?_ No matter. The blazing projectiles were a surprisingly effective move. 

“Chargers! Stand down!” The big qunari called after felling the last foe with a single swing of his impressive battle axe. “Krem?” he said gesturing to one of the men as he approached. “How’d we do?” 

“Five or six wounded, Chief!” called the soldier Lani recognized. “None dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” The Iron Bull rumbled brightly. “Let the throat cutters finish up then break out the casks.” The soldier nodded and turned away, barking orders at the rest of the Chargers.

The company’s leader sat heavily upon a nearby rock, sighing with satisfaction as he did so. Seated, the top of his skull was just under eye level with the standing Lavellan, horns still rising high over her. She wasn’t the tallest person in the world, but neither was she all that short. Next to the qunari, however, she felt positively minuscule. _I wonder if this is how Varric and Harding feel most the time._ The Iron Bull rested one hand comfortable against his thigh, the other arm draped over a knee, and leaned forward. 

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” He said motioning to Lani with his relaxed arm. “Glad you could make it. Come on. Have a seat. Drinks are comin’.” Bull patted the rock beside him invitingly.

“You want to have drinks in the aftermath of a battle?” Lani smirked as she accepted his offer. The rock was damp, but then again, so was she. Her long legs stretched out in front of her crossing at the ankles as she leaned back, hands braced against the rough surface. At least the rain had died down to little more than a misty sprinkle. The qunari laughed. A deep, rich, warm sound, like far off thunder. 

“Better than in the middle of a battle.”

“True enough,” she chuckled.

“This is Golden Scythe 4:90 black,” Bull growled almost affectionately leaning in conspiratorially. “You spill it, you’ll kill all the grass.” The young soldier approached once more, coming to a stop just short of the them. “I assume you remember, Cremiuis Alcasi, my lieutenant,” the qunari said by way of introduction. Lani bowed her head to him, smiling warmly.

“Good to see you again,” said Krem politely before turning to Bull. “Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?” he replied mildly surprised. “Have them check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem”

“None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you qunari right?” Krem said wryly, grinning smugly as he turned to walk away. Bull’s eyes narrowed at the soldier’s back in playfully annoyance. 

“So you’ve seen us fight,” the qunari said turning to the elven woman once more and motioning to the dead mercenaries. “We’re expensive but we’re worth it.” He let out a low chuckle. “And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“How much is this going to cost me exactly?” Lani asked peering up at him. 

“Wouldn’t cost you anything personally,” he assured. “Unless you wanna buy drinks later.” The big man winked at her. “Your ambassador.. er.. what’s her name… Josephine.” The elf’s eyebrow rose at the Ambassador’s name, but she said nothing. “We’ll go through her and get the payments set up. Gold will take care of itself. Don’t you worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.” He laughed again, as if at some inside joke. He certainly was a jovial man. Not what Lani had expected when she heard ‘qunari.’ 

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” she said with a smile, studying the men and women as they worked. “Quick learners too. They certainly adapted well when we joined the fight.”

“They are,” The Iron Bull agreed with obvious pride. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is. Demons. Dragons. The bigger the better.” The Herald though he sounded excited about such prospects. “And there’s one other thing,” he said, deep voice lowering to a ‘just-between-us’ level. “Might be useful. Might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“Only a little,” the elf admitted. “They’re a qunari organization right? Their equivalent of our guards and city watch.”

“I’d go closer to ‘spies,’ but yeah. That’s them. Or well… us.” Lani just stared at him. Waiting. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere.”

“Rather why I’m still here,” Lavellan conceded. “I shouldn’t be surprised the Qunari took note as well.” Bull nodded. 

“Right. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send back reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight. You are a qunari spy and you just told me?” She asked. The gears of her brain ground a little on that one. Sure the qunari had just as much reason to be concerned as the rest of them, but still…

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s _bad_. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on your side,” he explained. 

“Still could have hidden what you are,” Lani pointed out.

“From something called ‘The Inquisition?’” he scoffed, letting out a little laugh. “I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” she said nodding her head. “What would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy,” he shrugged. “Nothing that will compromise your operations.” He face took on a grave cast. “The qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.” 

Lavellan took a deep breath and and let it out slowly. She would rather avoid a qunari invasion if at all possible. While she personally had little experience with the Qun and its followers, she had heard enough to be wary and to know a hostile takeover would be _bad_ news. The Inquisition and the people of Thedas had rather enough on their plate at the moment. If stopping a qunari assault meant bringing Bull on board as a personal body guard and employing the Chargers… Well… There were worse things. Much worse. All told, it seemed like a pretty good deal.

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?”

“Enemy movements. Suspicious activity. Intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone they’re not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn she’ll put them to good use.”

“She?” Fenria smirked knowingly. Bull laughed.

“I did a little research,” he admitted. “Plus I’ve always had a weakness for red heads.”

“Alright. You’re in,” Lani chuckled offering her hand to the qunari. 

“Excellent,” Bull hummed, shaking it firmly. “Krem!’ he shouted. “Tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired.”

“What about the casks, Chief?” Krem shouted exasperatedly and a little put out. “We just just opened them up! With _axes_!”

“Find some way to seal ‘em,” he said simply. “You’re Tevinter right? Try blood magic.”


	33. Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition gains eyes in new places

They returned to the main camp at the top of the rise for lunch before heading out in search of more clues about the Grey Wardens. Varric and the Chargers would head back to Haven after eating while Solas, The Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Lani remained behind. Blackwall had been delayed from leaving Haven for the Storm Coast with the others due to ill fitted armor in need of repair, but he should arrive sometime that afternoon. 

Lavellan promised to wait for him before beginning the search. Uncovering the mystery of the Wardens seemed to matter a great deal to the man and his knowledge would likely be valuable in interpreting whatever they found. 

The rain had passed for the time being and the reprieve allowed the team the chance to dry their thick robes and over coats by the fire. All save Bull, of course, who wore neither.

“Iron Bull, how do your people put on shirts?” Solas asked as he lay his robes out over the drying rack. 

“We don’t, usually,” Bull rumbled with a low laugh, gesturing at his near bare chest. “It's pretty hot where we come from. But I can get into anything with a loose collar. Just gotta ease one horn through and then angle it up.” His head tilted in time to the words in demonstration. “There's a term for getting caught unprepared that translates to ‘running around with clothing stuck on your horns.’”

“Colorful,” Solas snorted.

With the sun out, the chill in the air all but vanished leaving the coast muggy and warm. The dalish mage sat on a rock in a sunbeam, face upturned toward the light, humming happily to herself. Her sleeveless tunic clung to her where the rain had soaked through her outer layers and the faint outlines of tattoos could be seen through the lighter-weight fabric. Enough to know they were there. but not enough to glean any detail of them.

“Hmm,” The Iron Bull hummed behind her studying her back openly. “The face thing is dalish and those lines peaking out at your shoulders seem to match, but those others…” He squinted harder. “Don’t look elven to me. Not entirely, at least.”

Lavellan laughed lightly without looking over. 

“Good eye, Bull,” she said, a wicked little smirk pulling at her lips. He snorted. 

“Nice one, Boss. Still.. Haven’t met many dalish with non-dalish tattoos.”

“Me either,” the elf shrugged, an eyebrow quirking upward. “I suppose I have always been a bit of an odd little duckling.” 

“Ha!” The man roared triumphantly, one large hand slapping his thigh, voice quickly becoming a low teasing growl. “I knew I sensed something of a rebel in you.” The woman chuckled. Solas and Cassandra listened to the exchange. Interest mildly piqued. 

“Not much of a surprise there, Ben-Hassrath,” Lani snorted sarcastically. “Herald of Andraste, remember? Here to save the world and challenge all the beliefs so long held by so many.” Her hand swept out wide in front of her in a slow arch as she spoke, as if encompassing the world in the gesture. Bull’s deep laugh rumbled for a few moments before he focused once more on the hidden ink.

“So what’s the story? Where’d you get ‘em?”

“I’ve never noticed you had _other_ tattoos,” Cassandra admitted, curiosity tinting her tone as she too attempted to gleam detail from the dark marking faintly visible beneath the elf’s clothing. Even Solas glanced up. Though he did not stare so openly as the others. 

Lavellan began willing the air around her to warm further. Not enough to drain her energy or dry her completely, but just enough that the fabric became opaque once more. 

“Maybe sometime I’ll show you,” she said over her shoulder with a twinkling smile. Her chin lifted in the direction of Bull’s own ink. “Looks like we both have a few tales tell. But that’s talk to have over plenty of wine and fine food. Preferably with a warm bed to collapse into afterward to sleep off the inevitable hangover.” She sighed, face once more finding the sunbeam and smoothing contentedly. 

“Whatever you say, Boss,” the big man chuckled, letting the matter drop. Cassandra nodded in agreement and returned to her task. 

Solas’s head titled as he studied the Herald from behind. He thought the form between her shoulders had looked like… but it couldn’t be. Could it? He shook his head, banishing the thought. 

 

“These must be the missing soldiers,” Lani said, crouching down in the moldy, ramshackle hut and rolling one man over gently to study his pale face. _So young,_ she thought.

“May they find peace at the Maker’s side,” Cassandra prayed under her breath.

“We should see that their families are notified,” Solas said solemnly. 

The elven woman nodded and began to search the bodies. She found a well worn locket around one’s neck and gently unclipped it. The simple totem clearly of great importance. Inside were the tiny portraits of two young children. The elf smiled sadly, running a thumb lightly over the images. From the other one, she took what appeared to be a wedding band. Both items were placed in a clean piece of cloth held out by Blackwall. The cloth was then folded and tucked safely in a deep inside pocket of her bag along with a note one of the fallen men had been in the middle of writing before he had died.

“It appears our men were murdered by a group called the Blades of Hessarian,” The tall elven apostate said reading a letter left on a worn wooden table near the bodies. “And it seems there may be a way to challenge their leader.” 

“Hessarian’s blade is supposed to represent mercy not random slaughter,” scowled Cassandra coming to Solas’s side and taking the note as to read it with her own eyes. 

“They have traditions,” Blackwall sighed, laying a sheet over the bodies of the Blades’ victims. “Those men were just following a code.” He knelt in respectful silence for a moment, head bowed. Rising, he turned to the Herald. “If the Inquisition can win their loyalty we could steer them on a better path.”

“Worth a try, I suppose,” shrugged the elven woman. The Blades had taken her men’s lives in cold blood. One way or the other there would be recompense. 

 

The trail they followed was winding and slick. While the rains were lighter now, the sun shining more than it hid, the soil was soft and muddy. Lavellan found herself sliding down the steep slopes as much as she walked down them. Her foot slipped on a hidden rock and she would have fallen had Solas’s strong hand not latched around her upper arm, catching her. 

“Ma serannas, falon,” she said with a huffed breath, free hand pressed to her chest feeling her heart pound beneath her fingers as she peered down the cliff face that had almost claimed her. “That would have put a massive kink in my day.”

“And ours,” he mused, half lifting her back to the relative safety of the path. 

“Good catch,” Bull rumbled behind them.

“I did not think it would due for our only hope of closing the Breach to go careening into oblivion,” the elven man said eyeing Lani as she straightened her robes and armor. 

“Welp. I’ve got that going for me at least,” she sighed. “Glad to know I’m not expendable. Yet, anyway. I’ll take the wins where I can get them.” Turning to once more continue down the trail she added, “That’s one near death experience down for the day. Only two more to go if we stick to our usual pattern. Now if we could just avoid demons for more than ten minutes, I’d be happy.”

“Speaking of which,” Blackwall chuckled, “do you have any advice for fighting demons, Solas?”

“Survive the first thirty heartbeats, and you'll have already won,” he said sagely as they began moving again.

“So I should try not to die? Helpful,” the warden muttered.

“I mean that demons are rarely intelligent enough to change their tactics,” the elven man elaborated. “If you focus on defending yourself, you will see the full range of their abilities within the first thirty heartbeats. By then, you should be able to find a weakness and exploit it.”

“Ahh,” Blackwall said, voice bright with understanding. “That is helpful! I will try to remember that.”

“I will have to tell Cullen of this as well,” said Cassandra thoughtfully. “It may prove valuable to teach the soldiers.”

“And the Chargers,” Bull agreed.

“I am glad you all find such value in it,” Solas said, eyes twinkling. “But also, try not to die.”

 

“Someone’s come with a challenge,” whispered a nervous but hopeful sounding woman as Lani and her friends neared the wooden gates of a small stronghold.

“They always fail,” her fellow guard muttered. _That’s promising,_ the dalish elf thought as they passed. 

“I guess that means we’re in the right place,” she murmured over her shoulder to the others. 

“So it would seem,” Cassandra said back. The Seeker’s hand seemed to rest causally upon the hilt of her sword, but the Herald knew it was a show. The warrior woman could have that blade out and whirling before you could blink. 

Their eyes scanned the interior of the Keep but found no undue threats. The space was small: a few huts along one wall, a stable along another, and a kennel. The humble structures well built and well cared for.

“So you would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” a large man bellowed from before a stone alter. The little group turned to face him. The warriors keeping an eye on the gathering Blades while Lavellan stared their leader down. 

He was broad and tall, with white hair and beard, and a cruel smile. The alter he stood in front of was heavy and rough. Two great stone wolves or dogs flanked it. The style of the carving made it hard to tell which for sure.

“You killed soldiers of the Inquisition,” the Herald declared. “We can not let that stand.”

“You want justice?” he taunted savagely. “Claim it!” The broad man charged.

Lani half expected the Blades of Hessarian to charge along with him and braced for an attack from all sides, but none of the other men and woman moved. They simply watched. _At least there is that,_ she thought with a little shrug, rolling a shoulder to loosen it and preparing her first spell. 

They may not have had other soldiers to worry about, but two giant mabari war hounds decked out in heavy armor came barreling out of the kennels and headed straight for them. Solas threw a barrier down over all of them as was his habit when fighting began. Lani ignored it, pulling more and more power to the staff whirling in front of her, eyes never leaving the charging man as he raced forward with his sword raised high in the air, voice ringing out in a war cry. 

When he was near close enough for his strike to fall, her staff struck the ground sending a concentrated ball of violet flame hurtling for the man’s chest. It exploded on impact. The force of it threw the white haired man back the ten paces he had just crossed and slammed him hard into the stone alter. The shock wave blew back passed her companions, stirring hair and beard and cloth, but leaving them unharmed. However, it forced the armored mabari they were battling to hunch down against its power.

Unfortunately, the strike had not been strong enough to kill the man or his dogs outright, but it had stunned him and left his breast plate charred. Lani stalked forward, one purposeful step at a time. Her staff cracking with energy as she readied the lightning change reaction she so favored. It hit the man as he began to rise, sending him once more to the ground. The dogs behind her whined as the bolts found them. Bull letting out a triumphant roar. _One down,_ she hoped.

The Blade’s leader rose to his feet and charger her again. Unsteady steps growing more so as he moved. Her attacks had left his armor dented and smoking, parts of the metal glowing red hot. But for as painfully as that must have been, he came all the same. Barreling down on her like an enraged bear. 

Hastily, Lavellan renewed Solas’s barrier with one of her own. Just in time too, for the man’s blade came down upon it mere factions of a second later. He bellowed in frustrated anger. An ice wall shot up at the man’s feet, forcing him back a step. Solas came up beside her. With a nod, they attacked. As he launched ice, she sent lighting. Cassandra raced passed them to strike just as the spells landed. The man fell, clunks of flesh and limb skittering away in all directions. 

“And stay down,” Lani snarled through heavy breaths. 

She spun around in time to hear the final mabari let out a gurgling whine and see Blackwall sliding his claymore free of the corpse. The warden and the qunari approached her to inspect the damage wrought upon the Blade’s fallen leader. Bull let out an impressed snort.

“He was a messy one, I’ll grant you that,” said the warden, rubbing the back of his neck. Lani’s eyebrows rose and her head bobbed this way and that as if considering what he said and finally nodded in agreement. She turned slowly to face the rest of the Blades who stood staring and muttering amongst themselves. 

“It’s done,” she said firmly. “So long as everyone here respects the outcome.”

“Your Worship,” a brown haired man said stepping forward and bowing, “the Blades of Hessarian are at your service. If you want eyes on the coast, here we are.” 

“I had not heard of you before today,” Lani said. “And how I heard of you was… unfortunate.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, gaging his reaction.

“Our work is often misunderstood,” the man said bowing his head sadly. “But we serve Andraste and who ever proves worthy of wielding us.” 

“So your blades are now loyal to the Inquisition?” She asked. “Because of him?” She gestured with her staff toward the chunky remains and their slowly spreading gore. 

“We’re loyal to you,” He corrected. “I suppose that’s the same thing, Your Worship.” 

“So no ill will over what happened with your former boss?”  

“The man was a _bastard_ ,” the brunette spat, glaring at the corpse. “You’re not the first to stand up to him. You’re just the first one to win.” He looked back at her, voice softening. “And I would rather pledge my life to the _Herald of Andraste_  
.”  
“If it makes you happy,” Lani said returning the little bow he gave her. 

More eyes in more places would aid the Inquisition immeasurably. It was part of the reason she was being sent all over Maker-forsaken everywhere, after all. Still she found this man and his companions to be a lot more agreeable than she had their previous leader. 

Lavellan moved to sit on one of the little benches in the court yard of the wooden fort, while the warriors cleaned their swords and axes. The Blades of Hessarian moved about seeing to the bodies left by the battle. She pulled out the small leather bound notebook she had taken to carrying and began writing. Solas sat quietly across from her stretching his legs and enjoying the moment’s peace. Satisfied with their weapons’ cleanliness, the warriors joined them some time later.

“What now, Boss?” Bull asked, flopping unceremoniously to the ground. 

The Herald didn’t answer him, finishing the last line of a letter before setting it beside the two others she had written now lying on the bench. Elbow deep in her bag, she fished out the delicately folded cloth. She placed the ring on one letter. Then did the same with the locket and the agent’s half written note. Carefully and securely, Lavellan folded her own letters around the items forming protective envelopes. 

“Cassandra,” the dalish elf said turning to look up at the Seeker, “would you kindly take these back to Haven and see that they make it the families of the deceased?” She held out the little parcels to the warrior woman who accepted them with gentle hands. “Make sure they know their loved ones died in service to the Inquisition and died with honor. It will be of little comfort, but it is all we have to give.” The Seeker tucked the items safely within her pack. 

“It was kind of you to write them personally,” Cassandra said in quiet approval as she worked. “Given what you mean to many of our people.” Lavellan sighed heavily. 

“I don’t know, Seeker,” she said shaking her head. “I don’t believe I’m the herald of anyone. But you are right. Many others do. Perhaps hearing of their deaths from you, the Right Hand of the Divine, and having me, the supposed Herald of Andraste, personally address them will help. These men’s unfortunate deaths _did_ facilitated the acquisition of new allies for the Inquisition, after all. While the details should be left out, a personal touch is the least we can offer those left behind.”

“A wise and compassionate sentiment,” Solas hummed from his seat. 

“Indeed,” Cassandra said studying the elven woman who was once her prisoner and was quickly becoming a respected ally if not friend. 

“I have a report for Leliana too, if you don’t mind,” Lavellan continued, changing the topic and hand the woman a thick rolled note. “I’m sure these men will be of use to her.”

“I will see that is it done.”

“Thanks,” the elven First smiled warmly. “You’re one hell of a woman, Cassandra Pentaghast. Don’t know where we would be without you.”

“I’m sure Varric would have some _opinions_ on that front,” the Seeker glowered. 

“Then it is a good thing he is not here,” Lani said smoothly, soothing the feathers before they could ruffle. “We shouldn’t be here but another day or so before we’ll head back to Haven as well. Feel free to take Thenvir. He likes you and is the fastest mount we have with us. I’d rather those families not be left waiting if it is all the same to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma serannas, falon = My thanks, friend


	34. Touchy Subject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of party banter gets under Solas's skin

“The Warden’s must have moved on,” Lani said as she and her companions poked around the abandoned campsite. It was the third one they’d come across so far. The little ramshackle tent was in tatters, though it appeared to be the cause of the elements rather than any sort of fight. Digging through the rain soaked debris, she discovered a journal with a few missing pages. _Likely the pages we found at the other camps,_ she thought. “They are searching for someone,” she muttered aloud reading the last entry. She looked up at Blackwall, holding out the volume to him. “Have you heard of the Warden they’re talking about?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he replied, flipping through the pages. She sighed, pitching the bridge of her nose in frustration. Leliana’s words about the Inquisition’s warden bounced around in her skull. 

_“It seems Blackwall knows nothing about the disappearance of the Grey Wardens,”_ the spymaster had said. _“It’s a disappointment. I am, however, glad that he is with us. Even is he was_ not _what I expected. He seems to be a good man. His experience will be an asset to the Inquisition.”_ She’d sighed heavily then. _“As for the other wardens? It appears we will have to keep looking.”_

And _looking_ they were. And _looking_ they would likely be for some time to come. At this rate, anyway. As time went on however, Lavellan was becoming less convinced of Blackwall’s usefulness as a warden. He was one hell of a warrior, of that she had no complaints, but he seemed to know so little about an order he had claimed to be a part of for so many years. Something just didn’t sit right with that. 

“Whoever he is,” she muttered, “he’s drawing the Wardens away from here.”

“I wonder why?” Solas mused. “And where to?” 

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” she said, quelling a shiver. “Something tells me, we’re bound to find out eventually and I’m not entirely sure we’ll like what we find.”

“It seems we so rarely do,” her fellow elf agreed. 

 

They had stopped on a bluff for a time to eat a quick lunch. And to observe a dragon and giant battling further down the shoreline. The brilliantly colored dragon- scales rippling shades of turquoise, grey, blue, and black- tried to fry the giant with great crackling bolts of energy, while its foe endeavored to crush its skull with fists, rocks, and improvised clubs. Bull had referred to the whole situation as “badass” and Lavellan had quite agreed, lamenting she could not create the same powerful electric charge as the ferocious drake. That led to a discussions of the pros and cons of “if Lani were a dragon.” 

“Feisty,” Bull rumbled with a calculating smile. “Hard to kill.”

“And prone to igniting those that annoyed her,” Solas smirked. Bull and Blackwall both snorted and nodded.

“Watch it, you.”

“Not without cause, of course,” the tall elf said lightly, his sly grin deepening.

“Har Har. Very funny. See me laugh,” Lavellan said dryly, but chuckled all the same. A smile pulled at her lips. “It would be something to wield that kind of strength..” She trailed off in wistful thought, wondering what it might be like to fly. To feel air bellow the thin membrane of her wings. Hear wind whistle over her scales. It made her miss being the wolf. The breeze through her fur, moving threw the narrow, near impassable paths of the forest with easy grace…

Neither beast seemed to gain any sort of advantage and after a time the dragon flew off leaving the giant to do whatever it is giants do. Damp and bored and ready to leave the waterlogged landscape, the Inquisition agents began packing their gear. With only one rift left to close, Lani hoped to be off the Coast and out of the rain by night fall.

“Sera and I were just talking about you the other night,” Blackwall said to Solas, watching the man with a small smirk as the elf tucked his remaining belongs into his bag. “We need you to settle a question for us.” Solas sighed heavily, brows lowering in a scowl at the mention of the young Red Jenny. It was no secret the two elves annoyed each other no end. 

“Sera's involved,” he said darkly, flipping the flap of the pack shut and strapping it down with a little more force than required. “So this question will be offensive.”

“Yes. Probably. Sorry,” Blackwall mumbled looking only mildly apologetic.

“And yet somehow, I get the impression you’re going forge on and ask anyway,” Lani drawled with a roll of her eyes as she hefted her pack, wooden mug knocking lightly against her staff as it swayed. She moved to begin walking, knowing the men would be soon to follow.

“You make friends with spirits in the Fade,” the Warden said as if he hadn’t heard her though the smile tugged at his lips betrayed him. “So... um, are there any that are _more_ than just friends? If you know what I mean.” 

The Iron Bull began to chuckle behind them, clearly deeply amused by the question. Lavellan came to a stop and turned slowly to look over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but that certainly wasn’t it. And while she would _never_ admit it, she _was_ mildly curious.

“Oh, for…! Really?” Solas exclaimed. A low growl in his throat as his hands rose and fell in vexation, head tilting back skyward for a moment before whipping around fast enough to make Lani’s neck twinge in sympathy, leveling a hard glare at the Warden.

“Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about,” Blackwall said defensively. Lani’s eyebrows rose. _Perhaps yes,_ she thought, _but not really something you just bring up out of the blue and in front of everyone. Especially with a reaction like that. Perhaps in a private moment or over drinks, but… really, Blackwall? Now?_

“For a twelve year old!” Solas shot back hotly.

Bull lost it. Just lost it. A bellow of a laugh echoing off the high stone cliffs around them. The Ben-Hassrath doubled over, arms wrapping around his ribs as he shook with hoots and chortles. The elven man’s eye narrowed further, which only cause Bull’s hysterics to increase in vigor and volume.

“It's a simple yes or no question!” The warden insisted.

“Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that,” the Dream-walker hissed in indignation. 

The Herald watched the exchange as though watching a tennis match, mouth twitching at the corners unsure how to respond, whether to do so, or what to say. Solas had unusual beliefs about magic and the spirit world. That made him an easy target. The question had been a loaded one, mockery disguised as genuine curiosity. That annoyed her. Yet the right words wouldn’t come to her and she wasn’t even sure if Solas would want her to intercede. It might make matters worse if she tired. So she watched, eyes narrowing. 

“Aha!” Blackwall shouted triumphantly, fist in the air. “So you _do_ have experience in these matters!”

“I did not say that,” Solas said quickly, eyes widening.

“Don't panic,” Blackwall hummed soothingly. “It'll be our little secret.” _I highly doubt that,_ Lani thought. No doubt the warden be laughing in the Tavern with Sera over this no more than ten minutes after returning to Haven. 

“Ass,” the elven man spat, his ears coloring. 

“Now who's twelve?” Blackwall snickered, voice breaking into a deep basso rumble.

Solas shouldered his bag, turned, and stalked up the trail, taking the lead along the riverside. Lavellan could feel the tingling vibration of his aura as he passed her. He was seething, though trying forcibly to contain it. 

She faced the laughing men behind her squarely. Using two fingers, she motioned at her glaring eyes then at each of them. Blackwall shrugged, hands held out to the sides palms up and the most innocent look he could manage plastered upon his face. Lani’s scowl deepened and the warden’s expression sobered slightly. Bull’s chortling renewed, but was choked down as her gaze fell on him.

“Enough,” she breathed. They stilled.

She spun on her toe and continued after Solas. _They are no better than children._ She could hear a muffled giggle behind her, then what sounded like someone being elbowed, a quiet huffed ‘ow,’ a moment of quiet, then more snickering. The dalish elf rolled her eyes.

She didn’t mind the banter when they picked upon one another in good humor. When no harm was meant. Sure they riled each other’s feathers from time to time, but it normally went no further than that. But this… this had clearly upset Solas. Hurt him even. It had been meant to. At least meant to make him uncomfortable no matter his answer.

It took her a moment to catch up, Lavellan matching her stride to the elven man’s, saying nothing, her back straight and tall with quiet authority. The chuckles behind them died out.

Solas glanced at the quiet woman beside him. The dalish elf’s features were calm, but a dark shadow lay over her compassionate eyes. She had made her side clear and she had chosen his. It stilled the anger that roiled with in him somewhat. The hotness in his ears and cheeks fading. Lani looked up at him for a brief moment, favoring him with a smile. Then she looked forward once more as if nothing was amiss.

“I think there is something over there,” she said, chin tiling in the direction of a large cave ahead of them from which the river seemed to flow. “See it? Between us and the rift? Looks like one of those artifacts we found in the Hinterlands.” Her eyes turned to meet his, bright and twinkling. She shouldered him lightly in a playful, conspiratorial gesture. “Shall we check it out?”

A smile threatened the corners of his lips, the bitter taste in his mouth receding. 

“Lets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for Redcliffe. In Hushed Whispers will be covered over the next couple of chapters. I have all but one of them written and just have to do proof reading on the others.


	35. Rumblings In Redcliffe- Part 1: Uncertain Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and her companions arrive in Redciffe and get the feeling something is amiss. Part 1 of 4.

The Redcliffe’s heavy iron gates were down and locked. Odd enough for the small bustling lakeside town. The road had been strangely devoid of travelers as well. Sure, the fighting between mages and templars would have reduced the number of merchants in the area, but Lani still expected _some_ traffic. 

Thenerasvir bobbed his head nervously and pawed the ground as they came to a stop. His elven rider rested a gentle hand on his neck, more to tell him she shared his concern than anything else, as she peered through the branches of the tall pines around them. The hair on the back of her arms rose. She glanced at Cassandra and Blackwall and saw both warriors seemed to sense something off as well. The agents of the Inquisition dismounted a short distance away from the gates and approached slowly. Warily searching the area for signs of trouble. 

Solas felt the Veil ripple and twist, but before he could shout much of a warning a rift torn its way open above them. It was massive. Not as compared to the Breach of course, but certainly so compared to the other rifts they had faced here in the Hinterlands and elsewhere. 

Lani made to cast a barrier around herself and the crossbow wielding dwarf next to her, but the magic did not come as she expected it to. It was slow, sluggish to respond. In fact, everything was. Her muscles, her limbs, the cloak that trailed out behind her, all moved as if in slow motion. 

The same could not be said for the demons than roiled out of the veil tear. They seemed to move with unnatural speed, several pelting straight toward her. Her eyes widened in fear and confusing and if she had been able to look at her companions she likely would have found them having similar difficulties. A bolt fired from Bianca, but the arrow, normally too quick to see, simply hung in the air. Panic began to set in. For whatever reason, they could not defend themselves and the demons were drawing closer. Too close. 

Then as if a silent whipped had been cracked, time returned to normal. The demons slowed and Lani’s power immediately came to bare, throwing the creatures back with a mind blast and slamming the barrier down over herself and Varric. To the right, she heard the sound of Solas’s power crackling in a similar fashion. Cassandra and Blackwall raced forward. The Seeker’s stout shield up and ready for impact. Blackwall’s war cry echoing off Redcliffe’s high stone walls. 

The demons just kept coming. A rolling wave of flesh and claw and teeth.

High along the walls, Lavellan glimpsed the faces of terrified men. Occasionally an arrow launched by an observer would strike a demon, though it did not seem to do much good. Time seemed to ripple and distort here and there. Speeding things up than slowing them down. It made combat trickier, more desperate. Magic would flood to her call one moment and leave her gasping and straining the next. Cassandra, normally quick and agile in her attacks, seemed bound, weighed down. 

A demon, moving too quickly to follow, hit the Seeker broadside sending her tumbling. Fearing she could not right herself in time, Cassandra twisted, thrusting her sword up and back. The blade sank in the creature just below its rib cage. Ichor sprayed from the wound. Claws scraped against the heavy metal plates of her armor, but gaining no purchase. From there the warrior was able to level her weight against it and fling it away. Blackwall’s claymore came down hard on the beast, stilling it. 

“What is going on here?” Cassandra shouted in fury and confusion as she leapt to her feet once more. Lavellan’s wide eyes found hers.

“Madness,” she gasped, for it was the only explanation she could give. 

The demons seemed unending. Wave after wave spilling from the rift. In truth, there were likely only a few more foes than usual, but with attacks going awry and time seeming to be on the fritz the battle felt endless. 

With a cry the Herald of Andraste thrust her marked hand toward the rift, praying to any god that would listen that it worked. Things seemed to have gone unexpectedly sideways and she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust anything to behave as it should. More demons could be seen through the shifting green light of the tear. Gnarled bodies pushing and shoving their way forward. 

“Come on,” Lani snarled. “Come on, damn it! Close!” 

Magic exploded outward in a rush of wind as the rift sealed itself, stirring branches and sending the dalish woman and her companions falling back a few paces. Lani clutched at her tingling wrist. 

“What _was_ that?” She asked anxiously, still staring at where the rift had been, afraid it might reopen without warning. 

“I think we could have skipped these things getting weirder, don’t you?” Varric said mirroring her unease.   “Something’s not right,” the elf said, shaking her head in suspicious bewilderment. “Stay on your guard.”

“I was planning on it,” the Seeker said, sword held loosely at her side, eyes darting around the area in search of more threats. 

“Maker have mercy!” A Redcliffe scout exclaimed running over to them and marveling at the now gone rift. “It’s over.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Lani muttered to herself. The woman turned and walked toward the entry of the village not seeming to have heard her. 

“Open the gates!” the scout shouted up to the men on the wall. Gears ground and chains clanked as the sturdy weathered iron rose. 

The Herald of Andraste, the Seeker, the Warden, the storyteller, and the fade-walker moved through the gates and began up the long slope to the town proper. They didn’t get far before a man Lani recognized as one of Leliana’s agents step out of the shadows and over to them.  

“We spread word the Inquisition was coming,” he said in a low whisper, “but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”  “No one?” Lani asked surprised. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone,” the hooded man shrugged shaking his head. “However, we were able to arrange use of the tavern for negotiations. The Gull and Lantern, it’s called. It’s up on the right side of the bluff. Can’t miss it.” The dalish elf nodded her thanks. The scout bowed and left, no doubt to return to Haven or attend to some other business. 

A figure hurried their way down the path coming to a stop just in front of them and sweeping into an elegant low bow.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies,” said the rather young elven man in russet colored mage robes. The term ‘man’ seemed to barely fit for if the mage was past his twentieth year Lavellan would be amazed. All long lanky limbs of youth, not yet fleshed out or grown into. She would have been more tempted to call him a boy if not for the set of his shoulders and the mature way in which he greeted them. “Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly.” He gave Lani a somewhat hopeful look before adding, “you can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime, if you would like.”

“I very much would,” the Herald said. 

“Very well. I’ll take you to her.” 

The dalish woman nodded to him, motioning from him to take the lead. 

“The Veil is weaker here than in Haven,” Solas said grimly stepping up just behind and to the side of Lavellan so that his words ghosted over her shoulder and ear. Too low for anyone else to hear. “And not merely weak but altered in a way I have not seen.” His voice sounded both intrigued and concerned though a great deal more of the latter. She gave a near imperceptible nod, the nervous tension building in her shoulders and chest growing in intensity.

“You will find Grand Enchanter Fiona in the tavern,” the young elven mage said, gesturing toward the building with an outstretched arm. 

“Thanks,” Lavellan said glancing about. “Mind if we take a peek around the place?” The man’s brows lifted and he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, eyes darting this way and that. Seeing this she added, “it’s just that I’ve never been to Redcliffe before. I’d like to walk around a bit before things become all politics and I miss the chance.” This seemed to still him slightly and his brow furrowed as if considering. The Herald favored the man with her most charming and innocent smile. He nodded slowly.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he said. “Just… well… I’m sure you and the Grand Enchanter will have much to discuss before Magister Alexius arrives.” Lavellan eyed him thoughtfully. The mere thought of this Magister seemed to make the young elf uneasy.

“Then I will be sure to hurry,” she said soothingly, instilling the words with weight. His eyes widened slightly as if startled then hope flickered to life within them. He bowed deeply.

“That would be appreciated, My Lady,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your time in Redcliffe.” 

“Is it just me or did he seem a little skittish,” Varric muttered up to Lavellan, starring at the man’s back as he walked away.

“Indeed,” Cassandra agreed. 

“Yes. But I don’t think _he’s_ the threat,” the dalish woman said. “And he’s not the only one on edge.” 

Sure enough, villagers and refugees all over town were lost in hushed conversations about Tevinter magisters, mage and templar fighting, and events that Lavellan could not decipher. They were all more or less polite to the agents of the Inquisition, but the general disquiet was near palpable. 

“Ah Senna, my love.” Lani overheard the man’s sad words as she and her companions walked the lower level of the city near the docks. “For the first time in all these years I fear I will not be visiting your ashes.” She turned to find an elderly elven man sitting on a little bench in the shade of a small dogwood tree. His face buried in his hands. “What world is this that demons and brigands stop a man from bringing flowers to his wife’s shrine?”

Lani knew they had important things to attend to, certainly more important than grave flowers, but her heart ached to hear his quiet suffering. She walked over to the man and knelt in front of him. His long hair had long ago turned silver, skin lined and spotted, but when she touched his knee and he looked at the dalish elf before him his eyes were brilliant with inner light.

“Hahren?” she asked gently. “What if I took flowers to your wife’s shrine for you?”  

“I… I do not know what to say. Except, thank you!” He breathed in awe. His face lit up with relieved gratitude. Two wrinkled hands clasped the younger, smoother one upon his knee and squeezed it tightly. “You are dalish,” he said studying her tattoos with aging eyes. “My Senna and I, we kept to the old ways as best we could, though I know we are as children to you.” He smiled warmly at her and she returned it along with a slight shrug of her shoulders. He did not seem a child to her at all. Rather wise in a way few were. Humble and quiet. 

“Where might I find your Senna’s shrine?” She asked fishing out her map from the inside pocket of her robes with her free hand and smoothing it on the bench beside him.   
“It lies on a hill to the west,” he said releasing his grip and pointing at the rough location, “near the table stones.” She nodded and marked the place before rolling the sheet and tucking it away once more, rising. “Thank you,” he breathed, shining eyes meeting hers. 

“Stay safe,” she replied with a concerned smile.

“Walk in peace.”

She returned to the four still standing a few paces away where she had left them. They all watched her as she approached. 

“What?” she asked defensively, meeting their curious gazes, her ear flushing pink. 

“Hey, you’ll get no complaints from me, Vixen,” Varric said raising a soothing hand.

“Nor I,” said Solas, his eyes studying her in that unnerving way they sometimes did, as though she were a puzzle he did not quite understand how to solve. Blackwall shook his head with a low chuckle.

“You care deeply,” he said, “It is part of why your men are so passionate, I imagine. Still… caring too much for too many can be an burden.” 

“Don’t I know it,” she rumbled. Then she shrugged and sighed. “We jump through hoops for thousands of people everyday. What’s one more?” She glanced over her shoulder at the elderly man and added more softly, “one more soul lifted, however slightly, in a time of great sorrow and pain…”

“Not every battle worth fighting is won with a blade,” Cassandra nodded following her gaze. “The battles for the soul, won with gifts of peace or hope are just as important. Often times more so.” Lavellan hummed in agreement.

“Think we can find a healer in this town,” she said tearing her eyes away from the man and pulling her mind to more immediate needs. “One to send to the Cross Roads? Creators know those people could use it.” 

“I believe I heard mention of one up the hill from here,” said Solas. The Herald gave him a questioning glance. “It is not as though you are the only one proficient in eavesdropping,” he smirked. 

“Fair enough,” she mused. “Lead the way Dream-walker.”

 

The hut was fairly spacious, all things considered, though worn and in need of repair. There were gaps between some of the wall panels and moss clung to the roof lending the place a musty scent. 

“There are refugees there that would greatly benefit from a healer,” Lani pleaded with the elven woman in residence. 

“Of course they would!” the woman exclaimed as she moved about mixing remedies and potions. “These attacks by the templars endanger countless innocent lives. But if I go to the Cross Roads to help, I might end up in danger myself.” Her tone turned bitter as she added, “I doubt those refugees would risk their lives for a _knife-ear_.” She threw a few herbs in a bowl, perhaps more forcefully than she would have otherwise, and began to mash them vigorously. “Why should I risk mine for them?” 

Lavellan could not begrudge the woman her feelings. Sadly, she was likely right. But her skills were much in need. The dalish elf opened her mouth to speak, but Solas’s smooth voice rose first. 

“Save yourself and all the villagers will remember is that you hid. Even though they did the same,” he said gently. The woman’s hands stilled in their task. Her eyes lost on some distant point out the window in front of her as she listened. “If you help the refugees they may not love you, but they will hold their tongue before calling you ‘knife-ear.’” The healer turned, one hand propped against her hip, studying him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“Alright,” she said. “If the Inquisition soldiers are there I might be safer. But regardless, I’ll go. Just give me a moment to gather my things.”

“Thank you,” Lavellan smiled in relief. The woman bowed slightly to her then turned away to begin packing. “Come on, gang,” the Herald said turning for the door. “Let’s not keep the Grand Enchanter waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahren= elder


	36. Rumblings In Redcliffe - Part 2: Blown in from the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Agents of the Inquisition finally meet the Magister of Redcliffe. Tensions increase. Part 2 of 4.

“Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition,” said Fiona formally. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?” The Grand Enchanter was waiting in the tavern just as they had been told she would be and greeted them formally upon arrival. 

The Gull and Lantern was no grand place, but spacious and welcoming and warm. Heavy wooden beams formed the skeleton of the building. Rough cut but tightly fitted panels made up its walls. A few fireplaces warmed the open room and there were many comfortable alcoves for private conversations. Lavellan could imagine it filled with laughter and song. At the moment, however, so much tension filled the space that you could practically swim through it. Wide eyes peered and narrowed eyes glared at them from every corner and shadow.

“We’re here because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux,” the Herald said, head titling to one side. 

“You must be mistaken,” the Enchantress said brows lowering in confusion. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“Well that’s very strange. Because someone who looked _exactly_ like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux.” Lani’s eyes narrowed. “If it wasn’t you who invited me here, that who was it?”

“Exactly like me? I suppose it could be magic at work. But why would anyone…?” Fiona paled, swaying slightly as if suddenly light headed. The Herald’s suspicion turned immediately to concern. “I… I don’t know. Now that you say it… I feel… _strange_.” She seemed to regain her composure once more and continued. “Whoever or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already ‘pledged’ themselves to the Tevinter Imperium.” 

“Andraste’s ass,” grumbled Varric, “I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done! I’ve got nothing.”

“An alliance with Tevinter?” asked a shocked Cassandra. “Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

“I understand that you afraid,” said Solas, his brows furrowing deeply, “but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.”

“As one indentured to a Magister, I not longer have the authority to negotiate with you,” Fiona said, though there was reservation to the words, uncertainty, and perhaps even regret. 

“The Divine’s corpse is barely cold and you already joined the Imperium?” Lani snarled.

“Most of Thedas blames us for the Divine’s death,” the former Grand Enchanter began defensively. “The templar attacks grew worse and we mages had no allies. Either my people made a last stand here in Redcliffe or we took the only offer of help extended to us. I had to save them. I had no other choice.”

“Very well,” Lavellan breathed in little growl. “What’s done is done. Who’s in charge now?”

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier,” a man in oddly shaped robes of deep red and yellowish tan said brightly walking over to them as if right on cue. Beside him was a younger man in similarly cut robes of bright yellow. They bore some resemblance to one another. _Father and son perhaps?_ With his hood up, Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that the detailed flaps on either side of his head gave his silhouette a distinctly elven look. Her eyebrow quirked as this even as she tried to school her expression back toward something neutral. 

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” Fiona said. There was no warmth to her voice at all. 

“The southern mages are under _my_ command,” Alexius declared. He looked Lavellan up and down. “And you are the survivor? Yes,” he breathed. “The one from the Fade. Interesting.” The dalish woman’s eyes narrowed though not enough that you would see in the dim lighting of The Gull and Lantern. The hair along her neck prickled and it seemed as though the room had dropped several degrees.

“I’d like to know more about this alliance between the rebel mages and the Imperium,” she said bluntly.

“Certainly. What specifically do you wish to know?”

“The Grand Enchanter told me she was _indentured_ to a Magister.” 

“Our southern brethren have no legal status in the Imperium,” Alexius explained with a dismissive roll of his hand and wrist. 

“So they are slaves.” It was not a question. The Herald gave him a level look, arms crossing over her chest. 

“As they were not born citizens of Tevinter, they must work for a period of ten years before gaining full rights,” he said defensively as if this was something standard that anyone ought to know. “As their protector, I shall oversee their work for the Imperium.” 

“I am not clear on _when_ exactly you negotiated this arrangement with Fiona,” Solas said, taking a step forward. For his part, Alexius held his ground though it was clear he was not used to, nor approved of, being spoken to in such a way, especially by elves. His eyes narrowed slightly but his tone was one of forced pleasantry and mock concern.

“When the Conclave was destroyed these poor souls faced the brutality of the templars who rushed to attack them. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived when I did.” 

“It was certainly… very timely,” Fiona said hesitantly glancing between the agents of the Inquisition then Alexius. The woman was visibly unsettled. Lani could all but hear the gears churning away between the former Grand Enchanter’s ears.

“What does the Imperium gain by taking rebel mages under its wing?” Solas persisted. 

“For the moment, the southern mages are a considerable expense,” the Magister conceded. “After they are properly trained they will join our legion.” 

“You said not all my people would be military!” protested Fiona, eyes wide in shock, fear, and barely contained rage. “There are children! Those not suited!”  

“And one day, I’m sure, they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium,” Alexius said patiently as if speaking to a child, annoyance coloring the tone as he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes at the dark haired elf. _“When their debts are paid.”_ There was a subtle emphasis to the words that turned Lani’s stomach and made her nostrils flare. Fortunately, she was able to school her expression back to one of calm, cool, detachment by the time Alexius was facing her again. 

“I haven’t seen any sign of Redcliffe’s Arl or his men,” Blackwall rumbled. 

“The Arl of Redcliffe left the village,” the Tevinter Magister said simply. 

“Left?” Blackwall spluttered. “An Arl would never voluntarily leave his seat.”

“Arl Teagon did not abandon his lands during the Blight,” Cassandra said nodding. “Even when they were under siege.”

“There were tensions growing,” Alexius said dismissively as if the Arl withdrawing from his post was a matter as small and insignificant as a bubble bee bouncing off a window in springtime. “I did not want an incident.” Cassandra lip curled in a silent snarl. Blackwall’s breaths became deeper, growling around the edges. The hands of both warriors began twitching, itching to go for their weapons. 

“You’re quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius,” Lani said putting herself between the warriors and the magister. Her tone was cool but not icy. If this magister wished to deal, let them see what he had to offer. While the Herald trusted the man less than she would an angry viper, it would do no one any good to tear apart the tavern in a bloody fight. 

“Indeed I am,” he smiled with false warmth. “Though I have heard you are no Fereldan either. It seems we are both strangers here.” 

He motioned toward a table in the back of the tavern and the Herald followed him, taking the seat opposite and forcing her muscles to remain relaxed and loose. Alexius was a serpent making to strike, that much Lani could tell. A predator laying in wait. She did not know his game, not yet at least, but it was often a poor choice to show fear or nervousness in front of such creatures. 

“Felix, would you send for a scribe please?” The Magister said to the yellow clad fellow beside him. “Pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.” _Knew it,_ Lani thought eyeing the other tevinter. The young man bowed to the Herald and her companions politely before turning away to find the aforementioned scribe. “I am not surprised you are here. Containing the Breach is not a feat many could even attempt,” Alexius said leaning back comfortably in his chair and studying the dalish elf before him, long fingers stroking his chin pensively. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious indeed.” 

“Well when you’re fighting a massive tear in the sky, you can hardly afford to think small,” the Herald replied smoothly, reclining in her own seat in an apparent show of ease. It was a dance of sorts. Each of them working the other over to try to gain an advantage. Testing their opponent’s strength while seemingly polite and posed. Never revealing their hand in its fullness. 

“There will have to be….” 

His voice cuff off as his son stumbled forward. Lani rose instinctively and moved just in time to catch the young Tevinter as he fell.  
“Felix!” Alexius exclaimed in a panic. 

“I’m so sorry,” the younger man said apologetically as he slowly righted himself. “Please forgive my clumsiness, My Lady.” 

“Don’t worry about,” Lani said, her brows furrowing. 

“Are you all right?” Alexius asked coming to his side and placing a steadying hand on Felix’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine, Father,” he breathed.

“Come. I’ll get your powders.” The Tevinter Magister turned to the agents, forcing his voice lighter and brighter though it was still clearly strained with concern. “Please excuse me, friends! We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix said, voice soft and apologetic. 

“I shall send word to the Inquisition,” Alexius said to Lavellan. “We shall conclude this business at a later date.” 

The Tevinter Magister and his weakened son left the tavern. The companions stared after them for a time, or at least, most of them did. Lavellan, however, was staring at the note Felix had forced into her grip as he’d fallen. 

“Come to the Chantry,” she muttered aloud. “You are in danger.” The dalish woman’s frown deepen. Something wasn’t right. Something was most definitely anything and everything _but_ right. 

“Ooo, very mysterious,” said Varric. While he meant it to be joking, his voice was strained with anxious energy.

“Why would he help us?” Cassandra asked, her Seeker training on high alert. 

“We’ll need to be careful, but we have to figure out what’s going on here,” Lavellan said, fingers closing tightly around the note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizing in advance. The Red Future chapter (3 chapters from now) is going to be long! I'm working on that now and it's already 10 or so pages on my laptop. There just isn't a good place for a chapter break. Anyway, I'm looking forward to posting it. I like how its fleshing out. I hope you will too.


	37. Rumblings In Redcliffe Part 3: Changing Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agents of the Inquisition scour Redcliffe for more clues and information about the mysterious Tevinter Magister and his timely alliance. They uncover a gruesome secret about the oculara and Lavellan's resolve hardens. Part 3 of 4

“Should we not seek out the Chantry immediately,” Solas asked over her shoulder. 

“It’s almost certainly a trap,” Cassandra hissed. 

“Of that I have no doubt, Seeker,” Solas agreed. “But we may yet learn more of what is or has happened here.” 

Lani stood rooted to the spot thinking. Even muttering to herself under her breath as she worked out their next more. As she glanced about the room her eyes fell on man in mage robes looking at her fixedly with that distant unsettling expression of one of the tranquil. Making up her mind, she nodded once to herself and walked over to him. Solas’s head cocked to the side, peering at her as he walked beside her, but she did not answer his unspoken question. 

As they neared, the robed man’s expression did not shift. No fear. No apprehension. No… anything. His eyes simply tracked Lavellan. 

“Maybe you can tell us a bit about our dear Magister,” she said gently once she was close enough she was sure they would not be overheard. She felt a slight puff of pressure against her ears and glanced up at Solas, who nodded once. Anyone trying to listen in would have to work extra hard at it now that the elf had cast a stilling barrier around them. 

“Magister Alexius wishes only mages to remain in Redcliffe,” the former mage began in that flat unsettling tone. “He will approve of you two. He does not approve of me.” Lani knew little of the tranquil for certain, but from what she had heard they were supposed to be near emotionless. Even so she thought she could detect a hint of fear or regret in the words. Perhaps it wasn’t so much that they had lost their emotions as that they simple didn’t connect to them the way normal people did. The feelings were still there just buried so deeply as to be nigh untouchable. “Many villagers have already left to escape his ire.”

“What does the Magister have against you?” She asked, head titling, eyes soft with concern. 

“He does not like to be reminded of what mages can become,” the man said bowing his head slightly. _Ah. I see,_ Lani thought darkly. “He says all like me must leave Redcliffe. But who would take us in?”  

“You’re one of the Tranquil,” the Herald said knowingly, head bowed in regret and sadness for what this man had been made to endure. Now that ‘otherness’ had seemingly placed his life in even more danger.

“Yes,” the man nodded. “My talent with magic was insufficient to protect me from demons. Rather than risk me becoming possessed, the Circle removed my connection to the Fade.” Lavellan had to quell the fury that rose in her. Any mage could be trained to protect themselves, no matter their skill. If only the Circle took the time to understand that… “My magic is gone, along with my dreams and desires. Those now in Redcliffe prefer not to see it.” She had to bite hard on her tongue for a few moments before she could trust herself to speak. 

“How long have the Tevinters been here?” Cassandra asked in the silence. 

“Magister Alexius arrived at nightfall two days after we retreated from the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” the tranquil replied. “He forced anyone without magic out of the castle save those he required to serve him. Even the Arl was sent away.”  

“I see.” Lani said sullenly. “Fair well then, friend.” She made to turn away. Solas’s barrier popping and falling away. 

“One moment,” the man called after her… well as much as a tranquil ‘called’ anyway. Lani stopped and looked back at him. “You are a member of the Inquisition, are you not?” She nodded. “I am an alchemist. You must require potions. If the Magister will not have me here, perhaps I can offer my serves.”

“We would be delighted to have you working for the Inquisition,” she smiled. At least with the Inquisition he stood a chance. They could protect him. More so than he was here at any rate. It was more than many of his kind could hope for. While the sight of him twisted something inside the Herald, her anger was not at him. For him, and all tranquil, she held only pity. 

“Thank you,” he said. “While one lives, it is good to believe there is still a use for one’s talents.”

“Indeed it is,” she said softly. She felt him then with a small sad and gentle smile. 

 

“We don’t need your kind here,” a woman hissed as Lavellan passed. The dalish elf stop in her tracks and rotated slowly on her heel until she was face to face with the other mage, eyebrows rising in indignation.

“My kind?”

“Your Inquisition is just templars by another name.” Lani blinked a few times at that. 

  “Who _are_ you?” she asked in confusion. The First of Clan Lavellan, a dalish mage (note the tattoos- see the staff) work to re-imprison other mages? Like hell! She’d be on the short list of those thrown in a tower, made tranquil, or killed. Could this woman really be that blind?

“Linnea. Just Linnea,” the woman said. “Don’t ask what Circle tower I’m from because we’re done with that. We’re all free mages now.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Lani said flatly. 

“You’d rather bow to Tevinter than join the Inquisition?” Cassandra asked in shock.

“Don’t tell me you bought the Chantry lies about how evil Tevinter is,” the ex-circle mage scoffed. “It is just because they are ruled by mages. No one wants us to look at them and say their mages are free and the world hasn’t ended.” It was, perhaps, a fair point. 

“But don’t magisters summon demons and practice human sacrifice?” Varric asked.

While Lavellan had no doubts stuff like that happened, one could argue that it happened just about everywhere in Thedas from time to time. And likely the Chantry had taken just as much ‘creative license’ when it came to Tevinter as they had done with the elves. Granted, she wasn’t Tevinter’s biggest fan, but that had rather more to do with slavery, the treatment of elves, and the abuse of persons for any reason and especially reasons of magical gain. She had met those with first hand experience of such things and so was inclined to believe them. The rest… she took with a gain of salt. 

“The Chantry says whatever they think will scare us.” _True,_ Lani mused. “What’s wrong with blood magic? People don’t like the idea of us controlling their thoughts, but they have no problem with us throwing fireballs in their wars. In Tevinter the mages police themselves. It works.”

“I would think mind control and fire balls are rather different calibers of magic,” Lani said dryly. “Not really equatable. And while I’m pretty much positive Tevinter has its own troubles with mages, I can see your point. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m here because I believe mages deserve their freedom.”

“Right. And I’m the Empress of Orlais,” Linnea scoffed.

“Whatever you say, Your Highness,” Lavellan said with a roll of her eyes and walked off. The woman was apparently too dense to pick up on sarcasm and didn’t seem the most logically gifted. _Proud dalish elven mage the Chantry’s best friend? Laughable._

 

The agents made their way toward the front of the tavern. A man reached out to Lani but missed, overbalancing and hopping somewhat comically on one foot until he was in front of the Herald. 

“Inquisition huh?” He said straightening his robes, cheeks flushing. “I wish to Holy Andraste you’d gotten here sooner. These tevinters make my shoulder blades itch.”

“Who are you?” Lani asked, trying hard to suppress the smile that threatened the corners of her lips. 

“Names Dorlic.” He bowed. “Formally of the Circle of Magi in Hossberg. Lived my whole life there, since I was ten years old and came into my magic. Three meals a day. Quality education. A roof over my head,” he said fondly. “If you’re not summoning demons, a mage tower is a fine place to live.”

“If you were happier in a Circle why are you here with the rebels?” Lani asked. She supposed the kid made a fair point about the Circles. Still it was one thing to live there willingly. Quite another to be forced. 

“We’re all rebels now,” he shrugged. “The vote saw to that. The majority wanted to dissolve the Circles. The rest went with them or were left behind. I figured I’m better off with my fellow mages than alone.”

“And you’re not happy with this new alliance?” the Herald prompted. The dark skinned man fidgeted as he spoke, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Something’s not right about that lot,” he said shaking his head. “They’re not like us! Magic or no, I’d rather count myself among decent folk than stand with magisters.” The elven woman nodded slowly, considering his words.   

“How did the Grand Enchanter end up working with Tevinter?” she asked finally.

“One minute we were bracing for the templars to attack. The next, we had a magister ally. It was a stroke of luck that has given us an edge. But, in a way, out of the frying pan….”

“And in to the fire,” Lani finished pursing her lips. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “look. I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll see what can be done. Hang in there, all right. Thank you for your help.” She straighten and said goodbye.

“Be careful,” the man hissed after her. “The tevinters likely aren’t happy you’re asking questions.” She nodded once to him in understanding then pushed through the door and out in the bright beautiful day. Bare a cloud was in the sky, but something in Lavellan’s bones told her a storm was coming. A big one. 

 

“You’re the Inquisition, right?” said the young elven man whom Lani recognized from the gates. “I never imagined you’d still be here,” he said awed and a little excited. “Are you really looking to ally with us?”

“I want this war to end without sending you back to the Circle,” she nodded.

“There has to be a way, right?” he said pensively. “We’re not what they think. All blood mages and abominations. We just want to be normal. Have families. Use our magic to… to help grow crops or something.” The man was young, still so naive and yet he seemed to have a compassion, a wisdom about him that Lani hoped would flourish in the years ahead. “We never wanted war. What choice did we have? Stay and be slaves?”

“Sometimes to achieve the world one desires one must take regrettable measures,” said Solas sadly. Lani glanced at him for a moment. She did not necessarily disagree, it was more that something about what he said, the way he had said it seemed… personal. As if he were not referring to the same thing as the young man, but that the phrase applied in any case. It was not the first time she had noticed such a tinting in the subtle phrasing of his words. She filed it away in a back corner of her brain as something to think about later. 

“I hope you can do something,” the mage said nervously. “Tying ourselves to Tevinter?” He shook his head. “That can’t be the right way to end this.”  “You seem young to be part of this,” Blackwall offered. 

“I’m Liset. I came into my magic when I was nine years old,” the elf explained. “Templars came into the alienage and took me to the Circle. They didn’t even let me say goodbye.” The sadness in his words turned bitted and angry. “It’s not right. I studied hard. I passed my Harrowing. I sing the Chant. But I’ll be locked up for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t approve of the Grand Enchanter’s decision?” Cassandra asked, eyes narrowed in thought.  

“I was there when we voted to leave the Circle,” Liset said. “She really seemed to care what we wanted. She was ready to rebel, but she wasn’t going to unless it was the will of all mages.” He voice darkened, tinted with confused betrayal. “It’s hard to believe she would go behind our back and sell us to the magisters.” Lani and Solas exchanged a look. It was odd indeed that someone so keen on working by consensus would make such a drastic move on her own. Fiona was a strong leader. This seemed… out of character somehow. 

“How long has Magister Alexius been here?” Solas wondered. 

“A day or two after… After the Conclave, he arrived,” Liset answer, fingers working his brow as he thought. “Coming to save us from the wrath of the templars, they said.” He sighed heavily, gesturing around them weakly. “ _This_ doesn’t feel like safety.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Lani said, resting a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. “There is something strange going on. We’re going to find out what.”

“I never thought the Grand Enchanter would swear to a magister…” he said trailing off. The Herald gave him the most comforting smile she could muster and turned away. 

 

“I want to see what else we can learn about the rebels and their tevinter allies,” Lani muttered to her companions as they walked toward the docks. “There might be other useful information laying about this place. Something we can use to our advantage.”

“People certainly seem happy to share what they know,” Solas said. “At least when they don’t feel they will be overheard.”

“Indeed,” muttered Cassandra, “I am liking this less and less the more I hear. The whole business is distasteful. I’m more in favor of pursuing the templars.”

“I, however, am not,” Lani countered. “I understand your misgivings about mages, Cassandra, but do you really think it wise to simply allow Magister Alexius to remain in control of these mages? Is that truly a threat you are willing to ignore?”

“I said nothing of ignoring them,” Cassandra countered. 

“Ah, so instead you would seek out the templars and use them to seal the Breach- assuming they could- then what?” Solas asked. “Turn them loose upon these mages? Many of whom have no quarrel with you other than the want to live like any other.” 

“I did not say that either…” 

“Whatever we do,” Blackwall said glancing between the mages and Seeker, “we should do it quickly. The Breach isn’t getting any smaller.”

They walked the docks of Redcliffe once more, this time the portion nearest the lake. 

“Do you hear that?” Lavellan asked as they neared a small run down hut. 

“It sounds like those skulls we’ve been finding everywhere,” Varric said quietly. 

Solas moved to the door of the cabin, extending a hand toward it. 

“You are correct,” he said lowering the hand. “Whatever is making the sound is coming from here.” 

“Let’s take a look,” the dalish elf said, pulling her staff from the straps across her back and turning to look over her shoulder at the warriors and rogue. Cassandra drew her blade and held it loosely at the ready. Bianca was pressed against Varric’s shoulder, set arrow trained on the door. The head of Blackwall’s axe rested low beside him- a comfortable position to hold and easy enough to bring the weapon to bare. Lani nodded and turned to Solas. The tall elf pushed the door open with a firm hand. 

No attackers waited in the the room beyond. But skulls did. What seemed like hundreds of them. Some already had crystals affixed in their eye sockets as the oculara they had discovered elsewhere possessed. Others seemed untouched. Still more somewhere between creation and completion.

Lavellan found a book laying on a skull, crystal, and candle covered desk. The text was open to a section detailing the creation of the shard finding devices. Her lips pulled up in a disgusted snarl as she read, a low deep sound vibrating in her rib cage.

“What is it?” Solas asked, rising from where he had been crouched studying the man-sized blue crystal that was no doubt the source of the smaller gems. He walked to her side and she began reading the passages aloud for them all to hear. The shaking in her hands grew with each word. Once finished, she slammed the book shut and cast it away as if it were a vile creature that might bite her. She turned and glared at the wall of skulls. 

“So each oculara is made from the skull of a tranquil,” growled Solas beside her as he poured over the book she had discarded. His features shadowed, twisting with barely contained rage as his eyes scanned the pages. 

“I wondered what became of those poor souls when the Circles collapsed,” Blackwall said sadly.

“I figured they’d fled with the rebel mages,” Varric sighed rubbing at his neck. 

“Now we know.” 

“Poor bastards.” The warrior and the rogue stood quietly, faces downcast.

“There are so many,” breathed Cassandra, gentle gloved fingers running over the shelves. “I had wondered when the mages rebelled…” Her eyes became shadowed as the grief turned to anger. “What a tragic waste!” she spat.

“The ‘Venitori’ have made the oculara and are using them to search for something.” Solas said continuing to read from the journal. “Something like those old shards presumably.” He looked up then, a darkness Lani had not seem in him before began to stir. 

“Venitori?” She asked. He simply shrugged. Either unknowing of the answer or simple no longer able to speak. “Come,” she said finally. “There is one more person I want to speak to before we go to the Chantry. Assuming he is here at all.” 

She turned toward the door, eyes drinking in the skulls on the wall one long moment longer before she tore herself away. Any doubts she had had about which side she would chose- mage or templar- were wiped away in that moment. She would not, _could not_ abide by this. She _would_ help these people even if the Inquisition did not support her. 

 

“Are you Connor?” Lani asked gently of a the unremarkable looking man standing on the docks staring out across the lake. 

“You’ve heard the story, I guess,” he said without looking are her. Reflected light danced over his quietly sad features. “I can’t believe the Queen thought Redcliffe was the right place to send the mages. I mean, it was nice of her to offer refuge, but… I don’t think the people here wanted me or anyone like me in this town ever again.” The words didn’t sound as though they were meant for her. Rather, they seemed like his own thoughts voiced and tossed to the wind. 

“You were behind the siege at Redcliffe ten years ago…”

“That’s me,” he nodded shakily. “The boy with Redcliffe’s blood on his hands.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Connor,” she said. “You were a child and terrified. No one taught you better.” His head bowed at her words. A tiny dark smirk that was more snarl than smile pulled at his lips then disappeared. She sighed. “But if I were you I wouldn’t have set foot in Redcliffe again unless I was dragged in chains,” she conceded. 

“I had no where else to go,” he said quietly. “When we closed the Circles every city shut its doors to us. There was no where else to go. I hate it,” he growled in frustration. “I can feel the blood on the stones even if I can’t see it.” 

Lavellan smiled sadly. She had a feeling she could relate to him better than most. Not to the same extreme of course, but there had always been guilt where Starkhaven was concerned. Sure she was not the only apostate hiding in the alienage, but she had not been so skilled at controlling or hiding her abilities then. A few that had seen her shifting or partially shifted thought she was an abomination. Who could blame them? One such witness had been a high official within the city who was notoriously anti-elf and anti-mage. The purge had happened shortly after then. Some part of her had always wondered if that encounter had been the cause. She shook her head forcefully. It was twenty six years ago, but the pain clung to her like an imbedded burr.   “Why isn’t Arl Eamon in power anymore?” Solas asked, coming up close beside her. 

Lani hadn’t noticed him move. Had he guessed the nature of her thoughts or had it simply been a fluke of timing? Either way, she was grateful. That was a rabbit hole she had neither the time nor emotional stamina to fall into just now. She leaned ever so slightly into him for a brief moment and his presence seemed to calm something deep within her.

“After the Landsmeet he stayed in Denerim,” Connor explained. “I couldn’t be his heir. Not after what happened. So eventually he passed the title to Uncle Teagon.”  

“How did you end up in the mage rebellion, kid?” Varric asked.

“I was living in the Fereldan tower when the Circles dissolved. I voted against it but…” he shrugged. “At first it seemed alright. No one was summoning demons. They just wanted to oversee themselves. But then the Magister came.” His face darkened with concern and disgust. “It’s wrong what they do in Tevinter. We _are_ monsters. We need to be controlled. If it wasn’t for me, every family in this village wouldn’t be missing a son, a daughter, a spouse.”

“You’re not in favor of the alliance with Tevinter?” Cassandra asked, head titling.

“Alliance?” Connor scoffed. “Is that what they’re calling it? That Magister threw my uncle out into the street! He signed us into servitude. This is my home. Redcliffe. Fereldan. No matter what evils I’ve done, I would never have invited Tevinter here!” 

Cassandra nodded slowly, the gears in her mind working away. She had expected the mages would be willing to do anything and so the alliance with Tevinter, while shocking, fit into that narrative. But so many mages here hated the alliance with Tevinter. Others, like Connor and Dorlic, never wanted to be rebels in the first place. And those that did were- mostly- not what she had expected. She did not like the idea of free mages with no Chantry oversight. Not one bit. But she was beginning to think the mages and their rebellion were a lot more complicated than she had thought. 

“Thank, Connor,” Lavellan said. “But we need to be going.”

“Please!” The man said, turning to her fully and meeting her eyes for the first time since their conversation began. His eyes were wide with desperation. Thin lines creased the corners where stress, worry, and regret had aged him prematurely. “Talk some sense into the Grand Enchanter. Selling out to the Imperium won’t win us any friends. We have to find a way to make peace.” Lani nodded, her own brow furrowing at the force of his plea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Dorian!


	38. Rumblings In Redcliffe Part 4: Professional Pariah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite Tevinter altus makes his appearance.

“Good!” exclaimed a handsome roguish man in tevinter style robes. He was up to his elbows in demons and his staff whirled as he endeavored to keep them at bay. “You’re finally here. Now help me close this, would you?” 

The ‘this’ he was referring to was a large crackling rift at the heart of the Chantry not unlike the one they had sealed just outside Redcliffe’s gates. 

“Love to,” Lavellan rumbled prowling forward. After all that had happened so far today, she had some steam to work off. 

She led with a blast of electric power that threw the demons back several places and gave her companions the chance to move to ideal locations. The mages formed a wide line the span of the Chantry’s open chamber. In that pattern, there was no where in the room safe from magical attack. 

Blackwall and Cassandra spun and whirled around the large space in the deadly dance of death that was their warrior’s grace. Blackwall’s movements were heavier, slower, and louder than Cassandra’s, but the power he put behind every swing shook the ground when he slammed a foe down. 

The Seeker charged, darted, and parried. Dodging spells as they flew past. Knocking demons to the ground or thrusting them away with her shield, sending them spinning into the mages’ popping and crackling power arcs. 

Just like the rift outside the gates, time seemed to behave oddly here, but now they were prepared for it, better able to compensate in their attacks and defenses. 

Lavellan shoved a wraith back with her staff. A blast of magical energy sending it to its knees. In the moments break that allowed her, she thrust her marked palm at the rift. It hissed and spat angrily then erupted, tripping and stunning the nearby demons. 

The new mage let out a little gasp of awe and glanced at her briefly, eyeing her glowing palm then the rift before once more forcing his attention to return to the battle. And not a moment too soon as the corrupted spirit before him rose and made to attack. 

“Not the face, you brute,” Lani thought she heard him say. 

Varric lurked in the shadows of the alcoves. Bianca singing her war song as arrow after arrow flew from her. Her keeper letting out a whoop of pride as a bolt found its target and sent a demon hurtling back through the rift. 

The mark snapped and fizzed as it and the rift warred with one another. Lavellan gritted her teeth against the uncomfortable sensation. But just like before, just like with every rift save the Breach itself, the mark won. With a violent crack of power that overturned the nearest pews, the rift exploded outward and dissipated. 

“Fascinating,” the man breathed, studying Lavellan’s outstretched hand. “How does that work exactly?” He began to chortle. “You don’t even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and _boom_. Rift closes.” He sounded awed, admiring almost.

“Who are you?” Lani asked with narrowed eyes. 

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see,” the man side inwardly chiding. “Dorian of House Pavus.” He swept into a low bow then rose with a flourish. “Most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter,” Cassandra said eyeing the man. “Be cautious with this one.” _Have I ever not been cautious with anyone?_ Lani wanted to ask but didn’t.

“Suspicious friends you have here,” Dorian said lightly, returning the Seeker’s gaze briefly before continuing his conversation with Lavellan. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

“Potentially, yes,” Lani said with a shrug of her shoulder. _Or this could be a trap._ “Where’s Felix? We were expecting him to be here.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note then meet us here after ditching his father.” 

“Alexius couldn’t jump to Felix’s side fast enough when he pretended to be faint,” Blackwall noted. “Is something wrong with him?  “He’s had some lingering illness for months,” Dorian nodded reservedly. “Felix is an only child. Alexius is being a mother hen most likely,” he explained with a little wave of his hand.

“Are you also a Magister?” Lani asked. “Like Alexius?”

“Alright,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Let’s say this once. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know southerns use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.” There was no harshness in the last word. At least, not much. His elegantly curled mustache twitched in a dainty little smirk. 

“You’re the one who sent that note then?” Cassandra said. Her hand still rested lightly on the hilt of her sword. 

“I am,” he nodded. “Someone had to warn you after all. Look, you must know that there is danger. That must be obvious even without the note,” he continued in hushed tones. “Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius had to distort _time_ itself.” 

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?” Lavellan scratched at her chin. If what he was saying was even possible it would explain a great deal. 

“You catch on quick,” the tevinter mage said approvingly. 

“I hope that’s less menacing than it sounds.” Lavellan’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. 

“More,” Dorian warned. _Well shit,_ thought the Herald. _As if things weren’t colorful enough._

“That is fascinating if true and almost certainly dangerous,” said Solas stepping forward and favoring Dorian with a wary look- both skeptical and intrigued.   
“The rift you closed here,” the tevinter went on, “you saw how it twisted time around itself? Sped some things up? Slowed others down?”  
“Yes,” the tall elf said pensively. “We encountered another like it just outside the gates to the village.”

“Soon there will be many more like them. And they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is _wildly_ unstable. It’s unraveling the _world_.” 

Lavellan hoped beyond reason that the mage before her was simply being over dramatic. By the look of him, that was a possibility. She hoped that this wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as it sounded. But if Dorian was right, if the magic at play here was what he described, everything in her magical training told her his prediction was on point if not an understatement. Forces like that, gone awry, could do immense harm. 

“You’re asking us to take a lot on faith, Sparkler” Varric piped up. “I was hoping for more proof than ‘magical time control. Go with it.’”

“I know what I’m talking about,” Dorian said stubbornly glowering at the dwarf. “I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” 

“He didn’t do it for them,” said Felix entering the Chantry behind them and giving Lani a pointed look as he strode over.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian smiled brightly, before his voice lowered to something more conspiratorial. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card,” Felix said shaking his head. “I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.” To the Inquisition agents he said, “My father has joined a cult. Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venitori.’ And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.” He pointed right at Lavellan. The Venitori. The image of the wall of tranquil skulls floated to the forefront of her mind’s eye. _It’ll be a pleasure to meet them,_ she thought with a mental growl, eyes narrowing.

“Why would he rearrange time and indenture the mage rebellion just to get to me?” She said aloud.

“They’re obsessed with you!” The magister’s son exclaimed. “But I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” 

“You can close the rifts,” Dorian said pensively, “maybe there’s a connection. Or they see you as a threat.”

“If the Venitori are behind those rifts or the breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought,” Felix said with a shudder. 

“All this for me,” Lani remarked, pressing a hand to her chest in faux gentile shock. “And to think! I didn’t get Alexius anything.”

“Send him a fruit basket,” Dorian smirked, eyes twinkling. “Everyone love those.”

“Alexius is your father,” Cassandra said to Felix. “Why are you working against him?”

“For the same reason Dorian works against him,” he replied. “I love my father. And I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? What he’s doing now is madness. For his own sake, you have to stop him.”

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time,” Dorian added. “There is already a hole in the sky.” 

“Well apart from a fruit basket, do you have any suggestions on how to handle this?”

“You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage,” Dorian offered. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there,” he said firmly, beginning to back away. “I’ll be in touch. Oh and, Felix,” he called to the yellow clad mage. “Try not to get yourself killed.” With that he turned and slipped into the shadows, disappearing to Maker-know-where. 

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” Felix said softly in the other man’s wake, though it was unclear if Dorian had heard him.


	39. A Mistake in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition makes its choice. They will infiltrate Redcliffe's castle and deal with the Tevinter threat... or so they think...

“We don’t have the man power to take the castle,” Cullen protested. “Either we find another way in or we give up this non-sense and go and get the templars.” 

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This can not be allowed to stand,” Cassandra countered forcefully. Though Lavellan knew, given the choice the Seeker would rather have sided with the templars as well.

The elf and the advisors were gathered in the war room. The time for choosing had come. Mages or templars. The Inquisition needed the help of one or the other and either option would be…messy. As such blood pressures were running high both from conflicting points of view and conflicting emotions. The Breach needed to be sealed, but how to do that and with whom to do it was a matter still hotly debated. Lavellan had made it clear she intended to throw her lot in with the mages come hell or high water. She simply could not allow the Magister and his Venitori to continue _whatever_ it was they were doing. This, of course, had not set well with some of the others both for logistical reasons and personal ones. 

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste _by name_ ,” Josephine said. “It’s an obvious trap!” 

“Isn’t that kind of him,” Lani smirked, cocking a hip. “What does Alexius say about me?”

“He is so complementary that we are certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana replied. 

“Not this again,” Josie drawled. 

“You’re telling me,” the elf sighed, a shadow falling over her features. “He’ll just have to get in line and wait his turn like everyone else.”

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Fereldan,” Cullen explained for what felt like the hundredth time, shifting the conversation back toward stratagem. “It has repelled thousands of assaults.” He shook his head in aggravated dismay. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing this rifts. I won’t allow it!” He declared, a clenched fist striking the table. 

Lavellan cocked her head at the Commander, eyebrow raised, wondering which of the two things concerned him more: her death or the loss of the mark. To be honest, they were likely pretty close to equal. The Commander and the Herald had grown to respect one another on a professional level and in time they may even come to call each other friend. As much as he could be a coldly calculating man when it was absolutely necessary, Cullen cared deeply for those in his care. And the brush he used to define what and who was in his care was a broad one. 

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” Leliana countered just as firmly. 

The Commander ground his teeth at that, but raised a hand in surrender. He straightened, arms crossing over his chest as he studied the maps spread upon the table. She was right and he knew. He just didn’t see a way to solve this particular issue. Not one he liked anyway. 

“Even if we could assault the Keep it would be for naught,” Josephine said, exasperation tinting her words. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s Army marching into Fereldan would provoke a war. Our hands are tied!”

“The Magister…” Cassandra began.

“ _Has_ outplayed us,” Cullen cut in bluntly, his scarred lip twitching.

“The Magister’s son Felix told me Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me,” Lani said pensively. “I doubt they’ll graciously receive our apologies and go about their business.” One way or the other, they’d have to find a way to address that.

“They will remain a threat- and a powerful one- unless we act,” the spymaster agreed.

“We can not accept defeat now!” Cassandra snarled. “There _must_ be a solution.”

“Where is the Arl of Redcliffe?” Lavellan asked, moving closer to the war table, one hand flattening upon it, holding her weight as she leaned over the maps. “I’d think he’d help us get his castle back.”

“After he was displaced, Arl Teagon rode straight to Denerim to petition the Crown for help,” Josephine explained shaking her head. “I doubt he’ll want _our_ assistance after the Fereldan army lays siege to his castle.”

“Other than the main gate there has to be another way into the castle. A sewer. A water course. Something,” the elf said pinching the bridge of her nose as she scoured her brain for any tiny tidbit that might prove useful. 

“There is nothing I know of that would work,” said Cullen exhaustedly. 

“Wait,” said Leliana brightening and coming to stand beside the dalish mage. “Here,” she pointed to a spot on the map. “There is a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It is too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky,” the Commander said. “Those agents will be discovered long before they reach the Magister.” 

“That’s why we need a distraction,” she said turning to Lavellan, eyes shining as she formed a plan. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“While they’re focused on Lavellan,” Cullen mused, hope seeping into his features, “we break the Magister’s defenses. It could work, but it’s a huge risk.” 

The war room door swung open with a rattling bang and a familiar form took shape in the shadows beyond, striding forward with cocky grace.

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” said Dorian Pavus sauntering into the room, a flustered Inquisition agent hot on his heels.

“This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods,” the agent said hurriedly as if feeling the need to apologize for the interruption and explain this sudden appearance of a tevinter mage in their headquarters. 

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” Dorian said smoothly. “And if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

It was a mark of the advisors training that all of them kept their cool. It probably helped that Lani had warned them he might appear at some point, though Dorian’s timing was impeccable. How he knew to enter just then… well, she supposed that would be a mystery for the ages. 

“The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen said tearing his eyes away from the new comer with an uncertain glare to speak directly to the Herald. His voice softened to something gentler. “We can’t in good conscious order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.” Lani nodded, accepting his concern, but her features hardened with resolve. 

“I’m not letting that man enslave those people. Not if I can help it,” she said firmly. “If playing the bait is our best option than so be it.”

 

Redcliffe’s castle was quieter than it should have been, though that didn’t surprise Lavellan overmuch. It seemed the only people left in the village were the mage rebels and the Venitori. As such, their foot falls seemed to echo more than usual off the stone walls and floors of the near silent Keep. 

The Herald of Andraste, the fade-walker, and the Seeker came to a halt in the chamber just before the throne room. Helmed tevinter soldiers lined the wall on either side of them. Still as marble, save for their eyes which tracked the agents’ every movement.  
“Announce us,” Lavellan said to the steward who approached them. Her words quiet and strong with authority. 

“The Magister’s invitation was for Mistress Lavellan and no one else,” the blonde man said the corners of his lips twitching as if to smile, but it came off as a sneer. His politeness feigned for formalities sake. “You lot wait here,” he instructed her companions. Lavellan stopped him as he made to turned away.

“If my friends can’t enter, then I won’t go in either,” the dalish woman said in the same even voice, her brows rising in quiet challenge. “Where I go, they go.” 

The steward studied her face for a moment and the hard expressions of those behind her, debating whether to press the matter. His lips pursed in displeasure as he realized this was a fight he would not win. 

“I… see,” he said darkly. “Please follow me then.” The man turned on his heel, movements stiff with irritation, and led them in the throne room. 

It was a larger space with vaulted ceilings. Heavy wooden pillars lined either side of the hall, Venitori soldiers between each. At the back of the room was a raised platform on which sat the Arl’s throne flanked by massive snarling carved wooden figures- wolves perhaps or dragons? It was hard to tell. A larger fireplace roared on the back wall, bathing the room in light and warmth. 

“My Lord Magister,” he said with a dignified bow, “the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

“My friend! It’s so good to see you again,” Alexius greeted brightly, rising for the Arl’s abandoned throne as if it belonged to him and wasn’t merely borrowed. “And your associates, of course.” He was clearly not happy to see them, but he faked it decently. “Come. I am sure we can work out some arrangement that is equatable to both parties,” he said waving them forward. 

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” The former Grand Enchanter asked stepping forward from her position at the base of the dais and facing Alexius, taken aback to be so treated. 

“Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.” He sounded like a school teacher scolding a young upstart not a man addressing one of the most highly esteemed mages in Southern Thedas. _Yes, because you simply ooze trust,_ Lavellan thought dryly. 

“Of course she trusts you, Alexius. I’m sure lots of people put their lives in your hands. You have one of those faces.” The elf’s sarcasm seemed utter lost on him except for the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. Perhaps Dorian had sucked up all the wry wit in the entire Imperium. 

“Yes, the Magisterium tells me that so often,” Alexius replied cooly looking down his nose as the Herald. 

“If the Grand Enchanter wants to be part of these talks,” she continued, “then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said surprised but grateful, bowing slightly to the dalish elf. Alexius seemed even less pleased about this development than he had the Herald showing up accompanied by her friends and fellow agents.

“Shall we begin our talks?” he asked, voice frosting over. The Magister reseated himself upon his stolen throne, fingers forming a steeple under his chin. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach and _I_ have them. So. What shall you offer in exchange?”

“I’d much rather discuss your time magic?” Lani said smoothly.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what your talking…”

“Don’t bother playing dumb, Alexius” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “I know that you invited me here to kill me and I know you got here before the Inquisition by manipulating time.”

“If you believe that, I marvel that you chose to come anyway,” the man said smiling with all the charm of jackal as he leaned back in the chair, the ankle of one leg coming to rest atop the knee of the over. 

“She knows everything, Father,” said Felix stepping up from where he had been stationed in the shadows next to Alexius’s throne. 

“Felix,” the Magister said severely, pleasant mask faltering, “what have you done?”

“Your son is concerned that you’re involved in something terrible,” Lani offered. 

“So speaks the thief!” he spat. “Do you think you can turn my own son against me?”

“He came to us,” the Herald shot back. “And _you_ wanted me here. Why?” She demanded. 

“Do you know what you are?” Alexius snarled, rising. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control. You’re nothing but a mistake,” he hissed. Any traces of warm, feigned or otherwise, were gone now. Replaced entirely with venom. 

“If I’m a mistake, what exactly was the Breach supposed to accomplish?” The elven woman said stepping forward.

“It was to be a triumphant moment for the Elder One,” he said wistfully. “For this _world_.”

“Father! Listen to yourself,” Felix pleaded in concerned frustration. “Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be,” said Dorian, arriving fashionable late as seemed to be his habit. And yet, somehow, once again perfectly timed. _How does he do that?_

“Dorian,” Alexius said, his face seeming to shadow. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down.” He spoke as if it had been a personal insult. “The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“That’s who you serve,” Lani said. “The one who killed the Divine. Is he a mage?”

“Soon he will become a _god_ ,” The Magister breathed. “He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric ocean to the frozen seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona shouted angrily. 

“Alexius…This is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen,” said Dorian, the bitter string of betrayal in his words. “Why would you support this?”  

“Stop it, Father!” Felix spat. “Give up the Venitori! Let the Southern mages fight the Breach and lets go _home_.”

“No,” Alexius breathed, shaking his head. “It’s the only way, Felix. _He_ can save you.”

“Save me?” the Magister’s son asked confused and disgusted. 

“There is a way,” Alexius said earnestly, features strained with hope. “The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix declared. “You need to except that.”

Magister Gerion Alexis responded to the words as if he had been physically struck. His face slackened with shock then hurt and hopeless rage took root and bloomed. By the time he had spun from his son to point at the Herald and her companions his expression was one of utter fury and hatred. Both clearly born of some deep seated desperation and sorrow. 

“Seize them, Venitori!” Alexius roared. “The Elder One demands this woman’s life.”

All around them the Venitori began dropping, agents of the Inquisition standing over their limp forms. Leliana’s forces had been quick and quiet, sneaking up behind the men without their noticing. 

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Lavellan called in challenge.

“ _You_ are a _mistake_ ,” the Magister growled. In that moment, the dalish First saw Alexius as if for the first time. He was a enraged bear, cornered, and afraid, and dangerous as all creation. He held up an amulet she hadn’t noticed before, currents of magic rushing to him as he called a strange power forth. The necklace began to hover and glow a blinding green so bright it cause Lani to turn away and shield her eyes. “You should never have existed.” 

There was a brilliant flash and a roar of sound. 

“No!” someone cried. Dorian perhaps. 

The Herald left everything shift, not just beneath her, but around her and inside her. It was as though a hook had dug into her sternum and was endeavoring to pull her inside out through her back. It was painful. _Creators,_ it was painful. But try as she might to scream no sound emerged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good golly that was a crap ton of dialogue over the last few chapters. Just an fyi: the next chapter will be incredibly long. I'll post it the start of next week most likely. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	40. Crimson Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Lavellan are flung into the future and get a taste of what the world will become if the Inquisition fails. If they can reach Alexius in time, they may be able to reverse the process. But whether successful or not, this dark future is likely to haunt their dreams and leave them forever changed.

The next thing Lani knew, she was gasping for breath, knee deep in icy water in a strange room. _An open dungeon cell perhaps._ Dorian was at her side. Dorian and _only_ Dorian. She didn’t have much time to gather her wits as two men on the other side of the room let out startled yelps, wheeling to face them.

“Blood of the Elder One!” 

“Where’d they come from?”

They shared a look.

Dorian and Lani shared a look.

The next instant, the cell rang with the sound of drawing steel, the hiss and crack of magical power, and the two men lay face down in water. They hadn’t gotten within two meters of the mages before being felled. 

Lavellan leaned forward, hands braced against her thighs and vomited. _What the hell was that?_ she wondered, but her breathing as was still too rapid and uneven to voice the words aloud. She stood like that for a moment, spitting the taste of bile from her mouth and panting. The sensation of… whatever had happened… slowly fading.

“Displacement. Interesting,” Dorian mused to himself a few paces away, fingers stroking his mustache. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us to… To what?… The closest confluence of arcane energy?” He walked across the chamber to study the stones that lay piled there, lips pursed in thought.

“The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall,” Lani breathed, straightening slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand. Her fellow mage nodded pensively. 

“Lets see,” Dorian said looking around. “If we’re still in the castle, _it isn’t_.” He thought for several moments, muttering to himself and pacing the chambered. “Ah! Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s when!” He exclaimed. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through _time_.”

“Moved us through time,” the elf said bewildered. “Can that even be done?”

“Normally I would say no. Obviously, Alexius has taken his research to exciting new heights.” He toyed idly with the tuff of hair on his chin. “We’ve seen these temporal rifts before. This time we simply… passed through one.” 

“Then we need to undo this and go back,” Lani said firmly.

“I’m not certain it will be a matter of snapping our fingers, but yes,” Dorian said turning to face her. “I quite agree. Let’s look around. See where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back. _If_ we can.” Lavellan nodded and they began moving. 

“What was Alexius trying to do?” she asked, poking her head around a corner to make sure the coast was clear then waving Dorian forward.

“I believe his original plan was to remove you from time completely,” the tall mage said. “If that happened, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and mangled his Elder One’s plan. I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it. The magic went wild. And here we are. Make sense?”

“Yes… No…. Maybe,” said Lani, her brow furrowing as she thought. She shook her head as if shooing a fly. “It just seems so insane.”

“I don’t even want to think about what this will do to the fabric of the world,” Dorian agreed darkly. “We didn't travel through time so much as punch a hole in it and toss it in the privy.” The lines in the elf’s brow deepened with unvoiced concern, the branches of her tattoo seeming to knot together. “Don’t worry,” he said resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m here. I’ll protect you.” One eyebrow rose at that and she favored him and his hand with a skeptical smirk. 

“Protect _me_ , Pretty Boy?” she said nudging him gently with her staff as she eyed him up and down. “We’ll see who needs protecting when the time comes.” Dorian snorted a quiet chuckle and Lani grinned slyly at him.

Whatever they were, they were in this together. While Lavellan had no real reason to trust the Tevinter national, she had no real reason not to either. Her gut told her he was good people and she was inclined to believe her instincts. At least, she had someone seemly proficient in both combat magic and magical theory to watch her back and he someone to watch his. It was a good start.

“There were others in the hall,” she said as they moved down the corridor and up a flight of steps. “Could they have been drawn through the rift as well?”

“I doubt it was large enough to bring the whole room through,” said Dorian, shaking his head. “Alexius wouldn’t risk catching himself or Felix in it. They are probably still where and when we left them.” He shrugged. “In some sense anyway.” 

“The ‘Elder One’ Alexius mentioned in the hall. Do you know who he was talking about?”

“Leader of the Venitori, I suspect,” the mage said dryly. “Some magister aspiring to godhood. It’s the same old tune.” The Tevinter’s voice went high as he mocked them. “Let’s play with magic we don’t understand. It will make us incredibly powerful.” He rolled his eyes with contempt. “Evidently, it doesn’t matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process.”

“You have a plan to get us back, I hope,” she said stopping to peer up at him.

“I have some thoughts on that,” he said pensively. Then his face soured somewhere just below the surface even as his voice took on a light, airy quality, fingers gesturing vaguely in the air. “They’re lovely thoughts. Like little jewels.” Lavellan face pulling in a grimace and she nodded her understanding. Unknown magic meant it was unknown if they could counter it.

“Then let’s go,” she sighed.

“I’m right behind you.”

 

Up a few flights of stair, around a corner, they found themselves in another row of cells. They were all uninhabited. Granted many of the heavy barred doors were forced either permanently open or permanently shut by massive spires of what appeared to be red lyrium crystal. Lani let out a long breath as she stared around. _Varric would be in a panic if he saw this,_ the elf thought. But the scariest part was that this wasn’t the only place they had found the corrupted lyrium. It was ‘growing’ all over the Keep. At least the places they had seen so far. Up the walls, out of corners, through what should have been solid surfaces. 

“Alexius has made a dreadful mess of this place, hasn’t he?” Dorian said in disgust, leaning in as close as he dared to inspect a crystal formation. 

“I didn’t see this part of the castle,” Lani absently, thoughts lost in darker corners of her mind as she starred through- not at- an old rusted blade thrust through a hunk of red lyrium. 

“It was covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs I’ve ever seen,” her fellow mage explained. “ _This_ is not an improvement.”

 

The lower levels of the castle were surprisingly empty. The mages only came across two or three other Venitori as they wound through the dungeons searching for clues and a way out. 

“You are alive?” breathed a voice from a cell Lavellan thought was empty save for the damnable red stone. It made her skin itch and crawl to get too close and the longer they lingered by it the more she wished to flee. The dalish elf turned to look for the source of the voice and let out a gasp as her eyes landed on Former Grand Enchanter Fiona. Or, more accurately, what was left of the former Grand Enchanter. She hurried over to the bars. “How? I saw you… disappear… into the rift.”

Lani’s face contorted in shock, horror, and confusion as she stared at Fiona. Everything from the enchanter’s sternum down was encased in red lyrium. It clung to her. Seemed to emanate from her. The woman was so intrenched, all she could move was her head and shoulders. Though the latter only in small factions. 

“The rift displaced us in time…,” Dorian began to explain.

“Is that red lyrium _growing_ from your body?” Lani gapped, cutting him off. “How?”

“The longer you’re near it… eventually you become this,” Fiona said. Her voice was rough and halting. Throat dry and lips cracked. It seemed to take her a great deal of effort to speak. “Then they mine your corpse for more.” Rage mingled with the other emotions roiling within the Herald and for a moment she found herself unable to speak at all. 

“Can you tell us the date?” Dorian asked quickly. “It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere… 9:42… Dragon.”

“9:42?” the tevinter breathed in shock. “Then we’ve missed an entire year!”

“We have to get out of here,” Lani growled, eyes unable to leave the dying woman. “Go back in time.”

“Please!… Stop this from happening…,” Fiona pleaded. “But you must beware! Alexius serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker. No one challenges him… and lives.” _Never fought a god before,_ the dalish elf thought to herself, eyebrow twitching faintly over a shadowed eye. _This should be memorable._

“That Magister is going to regret he didn’t just kill me,” she snarled aloud. 

“Our only hope is to find the amulet Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian said. “If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left… Maybe.”

“Good,” breathed Fiona.

“I said, _maybe_ ,” he glowered darkly. “It might also turn us into paste.”

“You _must_ try!” the enchanter insisted. “Your spymaster… Leliana… She is here. Find her! Quickly!… Before the Elder One… learns you’re here…” And with that, she faded into unconsciousness, forehead resting against the glowing stone in front of her. 

Lavellan glared into the cell for a few moments longer. Despair for the fate of Fiona, anger at those who would do such a thing, fear and confusion at being thrust through time- all it coalescing into an iron will to fix this world or seek revenge if she could not. She may have played a compassionate soul thus fair, but there was a wrath within her that made her blood sing. Before she could lose control, she turned forcibly from the imprisoned woman and stalked from the room.

“ _Maker_ , red lyrium is like an infection,” Dorian thought allowed, real fear and alarm twisting the words as he kept as much distance as he could between himself and the outcroppings, following after the stormy elf. “But then why is it coming out of the walls?”

“Do you really want to find out?” Lani said, steel in her voice. Dorian met her fiery eyes with his wide ones for a brief moment. 

“No. I don’t suppose I do.”

 

“Andraste blessed me. Andraste blessed me.” The words came in a steady rolling cadence. Trancelike in its diction. “My tears are my sins, my sins, my sins. Andraste guide me. Andraste guide me.”

“What did they _do_ to you,” Lavellan breathed in dismay as she studied the boy through the bars. He who had once been so bright, so innocent, so pure with youth. Now Liset looked… tainted, corrupted, dying just like the former Grand Enchanter, though he was not incased in lyrium as she had been. A nebulous cloud of red mist hung about him. He luminous eyes devoid of any color save scarlet. The very fabric of him seeming to be falling away even as he clung to the Chant of Light to remember. He stared blindly ahead, looking through her. He never so much as acknowledged the mages before him.

“Andraste blessed me. Andraste blessed me,” he repeated and said no more. The words hung in the air like an executioner’s axe before the fall. 

Dorian let out a low breath. Lavellan glanced at him, to find the mage looking as though he might be sick. She rested a steadying hand on his arm and squeezed gently. She wished she had more comfort to give, but there was none. They turned away from Liset and left. Just like Fiona, there was nothing more they could do. . 

 

More corridors, more cells, more stairs, more water, more red lyrium. The iron in Lavellan’s chest grew larger and heavier and hotter with each new atrocity, seeming to burn and crush her from within. She ached with the weight of the suffering they had seen, with the knowledge there _would_ be more. Rage warred with despair as she pushed open the door at the base of a flight of stairs. Words echoed softly down the empty hall.

“The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next.” It was Cassandra’s voice. Hope immediately flared within the Herald. But the prayer sounded weird- modulated, reverberating oddly. There was a buzzing quality to it. It came from ahead of the mages, through an old wooden door. “For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.” 

Lavellan push the heavy door open as quietly as possible though the old bolts shrieked in protest, echoes bouncing off the walls and fading into the distance. It was fortunate they had come across so few guards, for surely if there were more they would have heard the sound and come running. 

“You’ve returned to me. Can it be?” breathed an awed Cassandra as she caught sight of the elven woman. The same strange red light that had clung to Liset seemed to float about her, especially around her eyes. Her voice was odd… warped. She looked ill. Skin pale and clammy. “Has Andraste given us another chance? Maker, forgive me! I _failed_ you. I failed _everyone_ ,” she said in a rush. “The end must truly be upon us if the dead are coming back to life.”

“I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra,” Lani said hastily, kneeling to lock the cell. “I just got…Well… This is hard to explain.”

“I was there!” The Seeker protested. “The Magister obliterated you with a gesture.”

“Alexius sent us forward in time,” Dorian explained patiently. “If we find him, we may be able to return to the present.”

“Go back in time?” Cassandra asked pensively, rising to her feet and moving slowly, painfully out of her prison. “Tell me. Can you make it so that none of this ever took place?” 

“That’s my hope,” the Herald nodded. “If Dorian is right, and we can actually reverse the spell, then yes.” 

“Alexius’s master… After you died we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. The army that swept in afterwards… It was a horde of demons. Nothing could stop them. Nothing.” The Seeker spoke as though the events had been her personal failure. As if she were confessing her own grave sins. Though Lavellan would put good money on the fact the warrior had done all that she could at the time. Cassandra would _not_ surrender. Not easily, at least, if ever. 

“We’ll stop all that from happening,” the dalish First said fiercely. “I promise.” She wanted desperately to touch Cassandra. To give her comfort. Even just to lay her hand on the warrior’s arm. But the Seeker made a point of maintaining a safe distance between herself the mages. There was likely a reason for that. 

“Maker guide us all,” the warrior said, taking the sword Dorian offered -they had found it in one of the many empty chambers- and giving it a few test swings. 

“You look wounded,” the dalish elf said quietly, eyeing the stiffness in the Seeker’s movements, the subtle grimace that darkened her features. “Maybe we can help.” 

“Nothing you could do would help me now,” she said shaking her head and giving the Herald a sad little smile. “I’ll be with the Maker soon.”

 

Cassandra led them down the row to a cell that housed Solas. _Fortunate, the two were jailed so close together,_ thought Lavellan. Like Cassandra his eyes glowed red, a nebulous cloud of ruby light clinging to him. His skin, like hers, was pale, sweat-stained, and raw. 

The tall elf stood with his back to them, discomfort marring his usual easy grace. He was pacing and it was clear by the ware in the stone floor he spent a great deal of time doing so. Solas turned, eyes brushing over Lavellan without actually seeing her, and made to continue his circuit. But he stopped mid-stride and looked up, meeting her eyes. She smiled lightly, brows rising in concern. He hopped back a step, startled. 

“You’re alive!” Solas whispered disbelieving, studying her as if she might be a shade or spirit. Drinking in her every detail searching for the mistake that would reveal the demon beneath. He found… _none?_ “We saw you die!” _She can’t be real. How could she be?_

“The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time,” Dorian explained as Lani moved forward to unlock the barred door. Solas watched her the whole while through the bars like a man lost in a desert who has finally found a stream of cool clear water. “We just got here, so to speak.”

“Can you reverse the process?” He asked hurriedly glancing away from the dalish woman to face the tevinter mage. His voice was grating and gravelly as though he had had little to drink in quite some time. “We could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late!” His roughened voice rose as hope took firm hold of him. 

“Dorian thinks we can go back to our own time if we can find Alexius,” Lavellan said. Eyes once shining, endless blue now sickly crimson, turned to her once more. It took everything in her not to reach out to him. To rest her hand upon his cheek. To _kiss_ him. Seeing him here, like this, tore at feeling she had only just begun to realize she possessed. Instead her hand itched and flexed silently at her sides. 

“That makes sense,” nodded Solas pensively. “He sent you. He would be the key.”

“You look…,” Lani began but trailed of, hand raising as if to touch him. He took a quick step back and she let her hand fall. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I am dying,” he said. The words hit her like a physical bow. A truth she had known when she had first laid eyes on the Seeker, heard in Liset’s chant, and witnessed in what remained of Fiona. But to hear it so bluntly… both from the Cassandra and now _him_ … Some of what she felt must have showed on her face for Solas’s eyes soften for the briefest moment. “But no matter. If you can undo this, they can _all_ be saved!” She nodded once, the muscles of her jaw tightening. Lani’s nostrils flared in determination, fingers curling into fists at her side.“This world is an abomination. It must never come to past,” he declared, a hard edge to his words. She turned and headed for the door. “We’ll have to go up,” the tall apostate said behind her. “I heard some guards saying Alexius barricaded himself in the throne room.” 

 

It was fortunate Lani and Dorian had found several stashes of gear with which they could outfit the Seeker and Dreamer. Armor, weapons, and staffs left in the wake of other prisoners here. Much of it dented and well worn. 

Lavellan’s fingers faltered over a simple bow in one of the piles. Crude words and simple drawings marred its wood. She glanced up, meeting Cassandra’s eyes. The Seeker’s face became pained as she looked at the weapon. She shook her head the tiniest fraction. The elf sighed deeply, resting her hand upon the wood for a moment with her eyes closed then she tucked back into the stash and rose. 

She studied Solas and the Seeker with a critical eye and nodded in approval. The gear didn’t fit perfectly, not all of it at least, nor was a lot of it of the highest caliber, but it would serve better than nothing at all. At least her fellow elf had been able to reclaim his staff and Cassandra her shield and breast plate. It would have to due. 

Apparently, they had made some noise in their exploration of the lower reaches of the castle, for when they reached the chamber with the stairwell to the higher levels men were waiting for them. Solas stepped up alongside Lavellan as they brought their magic to bare. In many ways it was just the same as it had been, staffs whirling in time, playing their attacks off one another. In other ways, it couldn’t have been more different.

This ‘red’ Solas’s movements were jerkier, less gracefully. What he had lost in speed he made up for in feral desperation. He no longer fought like a predator hunting prey. Smooth and calculating. Now he was the caged beast, tormented and enraged. His growls and snarls were more guttural, more vicious. And he wasn’t the only one. Cassandra’s style was similarly modified. Making up for the missed steps with utter brutality. Lavellan cringed to think of what could have caused such massive changes in her friends. But it was a question she would never ask for fear of the answer. 

 

“There is no Maker,” a cruel voice said somewhere down the corridor. “The Elder One has taken all that was his and will soon rule from his city.”

“That still doesn’t make him a god,” came the defiant reply. A loud crack of flesh striking flesh rang through the air, accompanied by a short cry. Lavellan and her companions rushed forward in search of the sound. 

“There is no god but the Elder One!” the deep voice roared in anger. “The Maker is dead! Say it!”

“Never!” the woman spat. “I’ll die a good Andrastian before living a _second_ as one of you!” There was a crackle of power and the air suddenly smelled of ozone and smoke. The woman shrieked in agony and fell silent just as the Herald plunged through the door.

Lavellan’s eyes fell on the prone woman on the floor and her rage flared, her control shattering. She let out a bellow, staff slamming into the stone floor with a crack, lightening in blinding shades of blue, purple, and green filling the room. The torturers let out startled cries, then screams of pain as her power tore into them.

A wall of Dorian’s rich red and amber fire washed over her without so much as stirring her hair and scorched its way across the chamber, the wounded men’s armor, clothing, and hair igniting. Cassandra came bursting in immediately after, charging down the flailing men. 

One regained his composure and launched himself at the seething Lavellan. A wall of ice shot up between him and her at the last moment all but impaling the man upon frozen spears. Lani snarled, teeth bared, and sent a jet of flame right at his face. She watched as the his skin began to bubble and melt like hot wax. His screams died quickly. His movements shortly there after. 

Lani wheeled around to find a new target and came face to face with Solas. His head tilted to one side, brows furrowing as he studied her thoughtfully. The moment seemed endless as she stood there, chest heaving, nostrils flaring with quiet growls, flaming eyes locked on a the dying shell of a man she had only just realized she was falling in love with. His eyes softened then, as if seeing something with her and understanding it. His head bowed for a moment, sorrow and regret playing across his features. When he looked up again, it was _her_ Solas that looked back. He pointedly met her eyes then nodded near imperceptibly to their companions. It was only then she noticed the world was a bit shaper than normal, a bit louder, a bit more fragrant. She stopped cold, running her tongue along her teeth. They were pointed. With an effort of will, she closed her eyes and stilled her nerves. When she opened them again and met his gaze, Solas nodded once and turned away.

“The Elder One does not suffer rivals of any kind,” he said darkly looking at the fallen cleric whom Cassandra knelt beside.

“May the Maker take her warmly to his side,” The Seeker prayed quietly, closing the woman’s eyes. The tall elf and the warrior faced Dorian and Lavellan, shoulders squaring in determination. 

“If this madness is to be undone we must focus on Alexius,” Solas growled. 

The dalish woman’s heart was still pounding a vicious rhythm in her chest. Her breaths coming in quiet little snorts. She nodded once and left the damnable room, moving faster and more quietly that normal. Her companions following close behind. 

 

They did not have to go far before more voices could be heard echoing off the stone of the floors, walls, and ceilings.

“Tell me how Lavellan knew of the sacrifice at the temple.” The elf’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of her own name. 

“Never!” Leliana’s hoarse voice snapped. There was the sound of a slap and the spymaster cried out. 

“There’s no use to this defiance, little bird,” a man sneered. “There’s no one left for you to protect.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Leliana growled. There was another crack of impact and a groan. Their voices were growing louder the farther down the hall the companions went. 

“Talk! The Elder One demands answers!” At that, the spymaster began to cackle. The sound twisted and cruel with mockery. 

“He’ll get used to disappointment,” she hissed. There was yet another strike, this one louder than the last, and Leliana gasped. 

The companions gathered around the door and with a nod Cassandra pushed it open silently. Slowly and quietly the Herald prowled through the archway. Leliana was hanging by her wrists at the far end of the room. She looked _awful_ , though she did not bare the tell-tale earmarks of red lyrium poisoning. Instead she bore a resemblance to the darkspawn Lani had crossed paths with on a few occasions. Her features were sunken, skin lined and translucent. You could see the ridge of her nose were the cartilage met bone. Her eye were paler than usual as if she were going slowly blind. Ugly wounds marred her flesh here and there. Some fresh. Some healing or trying to. The man questioning her was of average height and build, his back to the new arrivals, head covered by a hood. 

“You. Will. Break!” the oblivious Venitori agent snarled in anger and frustration. 

“I will die first,” Leliana hissed with contempt. At that Lavellan growled, a deep wild sound emanating low in her throat. The guard whipped around. The Spymaster eyes darted between Lani, Cassandra, and Solas. Her lips parted in a triumphant shadow of a grin. “Or you will.” She swung up, legs wrapping around the man’s neck. Her thighs tightened their hold until with a twist of her hips she shattered his spine. The body fell limply to the ground. “You’re alive,” she whispered as Lani began to unshackle her. 

“We never died in the first place,” the elf said, features covered in shadow. “Alexius miss calculated.”

“Then it will be his last mistake.” Lani snorted in agreement. These were _her_ people, _her_ friends, _her_ world. The Magister would fix his transgressions or he would pay for them. “Do you have weapons?” The elf nodded. “Good. The Magister is probably in his chambers.” 

At that, Leliana took the keys from Lavellan, strode across the room, knelt before a chest, and began to reclaim her gear. 

“You… aren’t curious how we got here?” asked Dorian, following after her. Her utter lack of questions seemed to perplex him. 

“No,” she said simply, without so much as glancing at him. In fact, that was the first she had acknowledged his existence at all. The mage huffed and launched into an explanation anyway. 

“Alexius send us into the future. This. His victory. The Elder One. It was never meant to be.” While Lani had no idea what Dorian meant to achieve by pressing the matter, Leliana ought to know what their end goal was if she were to be of assistance. 

“I need to find Alexius and reverse the spell,” she said coming to stand beside the tevinter mage.

“If we can get back to our present time,” he said earnestly, “we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

“And mages always wonder why people fear them,” the woman hissed, raising from where she crouched, slinging her bow over one shoulder as she faced him squarely. “ _No one_ should have this power.”

“It is dangerous and unpredictable,” Dorian agreed, raising a hand in a placating gesture. The coldness of the spymaster’s stare clearly unsettling him. “Before the Breach, nothing we did…”

“Enough,” she snapped, cutting him off with a glare. “This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I _suffered_. The whole world _suffered_. It was _real_.” 

There was silence in the wake of her declaration. The elven woman’s eyes falling on the still open chest behind Leliana. She recognized the distinctive if blood stained dalish hunting armor and bow the spymaster had unearthed in the search for her own items. _Revari_ , Lani thought, the sharp ache in her ribs deepening as she picture the bright and jovial elf. Pictured her bound as Leliana had been. Pictured the horrors she must have endured. Picture the cruel death she must have suffered. The muscles of Lani’s stomach and chest tightened uncomfortably. She swallowed hard and followed with purposeful steps as Leliana turned and stalked from the room. Once in the hall, the too-lean rogue stepped aside and allowed Lavellan to take the lead, guiding them on the path toward the upper levels of the Keep. 

“What happened while we were away?” Dorian asked. He so reminded Lani of a dog begging for attention, begging to be liked. The desperation of it was almost painful to witness. 

“Stop talking,” Leliana barked.

“I’m just asking for information…” he began defensively. 

“No! You’re talking to fill silence. Nothing happened you want to know.” And in that she was likely correct. Dorian fell quiet then and stayed that way. All the wind gone from his sails. At least for now. 

 

They encountered their first rift just before the gates to the docks. It, just like the ones in the… _past?… present?_ Redcliffe, altered time. Speeding it up and slowing it down at irregular intervals. Though these distortions were a great deal worse that the ones Dorian and Lani had encountered before. However, the rift’s odd qualities didn’t seem to phase those who had lived in this dark future for the last year. In fact, they seemed to think this rift was utterly unremarkable.

Once the sounds of battle stopped reverberating off the wall and the rift had hissed and sputtered to a close, Lavellan was able to hear voices coming from the docks. She motioned to Solas and with his help she was able to lift the heavy gate blocking their way. 

“The Magister needs more power for his ritual,” a woman said, her voice cool and matter-a-fact.  
“No! Don’t hurt me, Linnea!” A man begged. “You know me.” But he pleas went unheeded. The poor man’s voice died in a gurgle and Lavellan had the sinking feeling his throat had been cut. Her suspicions were confirmed when they rounded the bend and found a small pack of wraiths waiting for them along with the man’s lifeless body. 

There was no sign of Linnea. 

“This is madness,” Dorian exclaimed as he reseated his staff across his back, looking about at the carnage left over from the short battle. “Alexius can’t have wanted _this_.” None of them said anything. There was nothing _to_ say. 

 

The group climbed the stairs to the castle courtyard above. For Dorian and Lani it was their first look at the broken sky above. 

“The Breach!” Lani cried out in shock and horror. “It’s….”

“Everywhere,” Dorian finished for her just as disgusted and fearful. 

The entire sky had been swallow by angry sickly green light. The heavens so deep it was as if one would simply fall into them. _This must be how the dwarves feel,_ Lani thought as she gapped upward. Now and again the Breach would spew forth what seemed like a meteor. The Herald knew wherever the blasted thing landed, demons would rile forth. 

Her stomach rolled and heaved, but she was able to swallow the sick with a groan. She cast about the ruined courtyard marred by battle debris and red lyrium growths, eyes eventually settling on Solas. He stared back at her, face unreadable. She looked away. Unable to meet his or Cassandra’s, or Leliana’s eyes. _This is what happens if we fail. If I fail,_ she thought. _Everything pure and beautiful about this world and the Fade utterly destroyed._ Her fingers closed instinctively around the moonstone on its chain. 

Solas watched her with sad eyes. Watched her heart break. Watched this world erode even one so bright as her right before his eyes. He saw how she could not meet his eyes. Could not meet the eyes of all left behind to live the events that had led to this. He saw the stone in her finger begin to glow with amethyst power. He turned away quickly. The elvhen man did not wish to see her face when the inevitable happened and her greeting went unreturned. There was no one on the other end to give her comfort. 

“The Elder One and his Venitori,” Cassandra said glaring upward. “ _They_ are the ones that opened the Breach.”

“Then they are the ones that will pay.” There was something broken in the Herald’s snarl. Like rain hissing on heated metal.

Dorian turned to glance at her just as her hand fell limply from the pendants around her neck. The rims of her eyes had reddened and a silent tear slid down her cheek, lips twitching with emotions to deep to voice. His features became etched with concern and silent question, but she simply glared ahead, pretending not to notice him. 

Rifts awaited them in the courtyard. Not one but two. The second larger than the first. The elven woman laid into the demons with her rage and pain. Tears burned clean trails over her skin as she fought, but she paid them no mind. Nor did anyone else, save perhaps Dorian who did not know the significance to the small gem and its revelation. 

He cast a questioning look at the Seeker as they walked up the stairs to the lower lever of the royal wing. Looking between her and the gore covered Herald ahead of them. Cassandra shook her head in solemn warning. This time Dorian had the good sense to let the matter drop without pressing it. 

 

“I’m not a child!” Connor’s yelled words could be heard coming from somewhere ahead of them. “I _can_ resist you!”

“I _am_ you!” A twisting, snarling, unholy voice replied with scorn. 

Lavellan broke into a run, water and blood flying from the edges of her robes, splattering the stone floors in her wake. If she could just get there, maybe, just maybe she could save him. She needed to save _someone. Anyone._ Needed to know everything was not lost. She raced down the hall frantically searching for the source of the voices, kicking down a chamber door just in time to witness Connor being consumed by flame and vanishing to the sound of cackling laughter.

“Why did he do that?” She breathed, voice pained and panting. “We could have helped him!”

We will help him by making sure this never happens.” Her shoulders fell and she felt the weight of the comforting arm as it encircled them. She looked up to see Dorian staring at her with compassionate pained eyes. “He resisted that demon to the last,” he said gently. Her eyes closed tightly. She would set this world right or _die_ trying. There was nothing else for her here.

 

“What became of Felix,” Dorian asked the spymaster as the group worked their way through the royal chambers. “Do you know?” Worry tinted he tone. 

“Yes. I know,” Leliana said flatly.

“And you’re not going to tell me?” he asked taken aback.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

There was something in the spymaster’s voice that deeply unsettled Lavellan. A dark, twisted, glee beneath the anger and disgust.

 

The sounds of fighting echoed off the high walls. The small group entered the large chamber before the throne room to find it filled with battling demons and Venitori. A massive rift hissed and warbled near the vaulted ceiling. 

Before anyone could notice their arrival, Lavellan thrust her marked hand toward the rift, disrupting it, and disintegrating or stunning the demons. It bought the agents valuable time to eliminate some of the Venitori without needing to fight two fronts at once.

Leliana worked her way around the room, arrows flying out from the shadows, never remaining in the same place or on the same course long as to avoid counter attacks. Cassandra raced forward with her usual cry of “Maker take you!” _At least that has not changed._ Their sudden arrival and Lani’s control of the rift had so startled the Tevinter Supremacists that several were felled before they could recover from the shock and change tactics. 

The Inquisition’s mages took up formation near the center of the room and began casting. Barriers were thrown over the allies. Ice, fire, and lightening filled the chamber in flashes of brilliantly colored light and roars of sound.

For being from a nation ruled by mages, the Venitori were ill prepared for the magical assault. Perhaps there had simply been so few assaults of late that their skills had waned. On top of that, they had both mages and demons to contend with. Not to mention the fearsome warrior and cunning rogue. All in all the Venitori were horribly out matched. Falling to blade, claw, or arcane attack. Lavellan felt no remorse for them. They had chosen this path. They would pay the price for walking it. 

The demons were another story. They battled relatively the same no matter their foe. In a way, that made them easier, more predictable. However, demons did not suffer the same confusion as men. They could not be paralyzed with indecision by a simple change in their opponents tactics. They simply attacked. Claws tearing. Teeth rending. Power arching. They attacked with the same brutality they always had and with the same indiscriminate determination.

However, Solas, Cassandra, and Leliana did not battle as they always had. The war with the demon army Cassandra had mentioned must have taught them a thing or two. The three from this dark future fought with a viciousness as to match the twisted Fade creatures themselves. Lani watched them closely, attempting to mirror their attacks, to learn them. If she and Dorian could get back to their own time, such skills may come in useful. 

The rift took more effort to close than she was used to. It seemed the larger the rift here the exponential more taxing it was to seal. Lani worried that if they got much bigger she wouldn’t possess the power to seal them. She pushed the thought aside. If that were truly the case, they would have to deal with it when the time came. For now there was little she could do. 

“The Magister has grown paranoid,” said Solas as the Herald approached him and the magically sealed door he was studying, shaking her tingling hand and wrist as she walked. “He’s barricaded himself in there and won’t come out.”

Lani tossed and caught the small intricately cut red lyrium shard in her right palm idly as she too eyed the door. On a whim, she took the fragment and slid it into a grove carved into the lock. The lyrium flared a bright yellowish green and seemed to become one with the structure of the door. 

“Huh,” she said. “That’s interesting.” Solas’s head tilted to one side, features mirroring her sentiment. 

“If we assume all the shards required are of roughly the same dimensions, we’d need… what… four perhaps five shards in total?”

“Seems about right,” Lani agreed. She straightened and turned to those behind her. “Alright, guys. We’re looking for red lyrium shards about three inches in length and seemingly intentional carved. I found _that one_ ,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the door, “on one of the fallen Venitori. Stands to reason that's where we’ll find more.” A predatory grin split her lips, baring her teeth. There was nothing warm in the expression. “Who’s ready to go hunting?”

 

“May Andraste have mercy on your soul,” Cassandra said to the man breathing his last as his life’s blood spilled across her blade and splashed to the floor. She ripped the sword harshly from his corpse adding, “no one else will,” as she stepped over him. Disgust and loathing twisting her features. 

“Doesn’t look like the Elder One is very interested in saving his followers,” Dorian mused with a disdainful glance at the fallen men around them, nudging one with the end of his staff. 

“The Elder One isn’t interested in much other than power,” Lavellan thought she heard Solas growl from where he rummaged in the pockets of dead-eyed Venitori. 

 

“How much damage did Alexius’s spell _do_?” Dorian marveled looking around at the ruined rooms and halls of the upper level of the Royal wing, his staff thudding quietly against the floor as he walked. There was no point in stowing it when battle was likely soon at hand. 

“Rifts torn apart all of Southern Thedas, starting here,” said Leliana. “But whether that is his doing or the Breach, who can say?”

Her voice was much less harsh now when speaking to the tevinter mage. She must have decided this was not his fault or at least that he was an ally. That’s not to say Lani expected to find them sharing a cup of tea and cookies, at least not in this world, but then again she wasn’t sure _this_ Leliana was in to tea and cookies anymore. 

 

“What happened here?” asked the blood splatted dalish elf tucking the final shard in a pouch as she and her escorts entered yet another destroyed corridor, leaving yet another room full of bodies behind them. 

“Somebody had very questionable taste,” Dorian offered with a snort. Those around him smirked. The sight likely terrifying if there had been anyone there to bare witness to the gore covered group. Anyone alive at least. 

It was true. The royal wing was pretty universally in a state of crumbling disrepair. And even that was a delicate description. To Lani’s eye, it seemed a herd of stampeding bronto had been set loose upon the halls and chambers. The agents passed a gapping hole in the exterior wall. _Perhaps the wing was laid siege to by… I don’t know… a really annoyed dragon? That could do it,_ she mused peering down at the ruined courtyard through the broken stone.

 

The companions gathered in front of the magically barred door. Lavellan held open the little bag of red crystal shards as Solas knelt and fitted them into place one by one. When he had extracted the last piece, the dalish elf beside him stowed the pouch and readied her staff. Solas glanced around them to insure everyone was prepared for whatever might await ahead, then he slide the final key into place, grabbed the staff he had left leaning against the wall, and opened the door. 

The Herald prowled into the room, her aura snapping and cracking about her in agitation. The chamber was surprisingly empty. The Magister they sought was there, but few others. No personal guard, no Venitori agents. Just Alexius, standing at the back of the dais, arm resting upon the mantle as he stared into the blazing fire. 

“Look at all you’ve done, Alexius!” The elf shouted at the man facing away from her. “All this suffering and for _what_?” She spat. 

“For my country. For my son. But it means nothing now,” he said mournfully into the flames of the fireplace before him. “I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure…” She had expected a fight. Expected the cocky, arrogant man who had sent her here. What she had found was a empty husk. 

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked heatedly. “Everything you did to the world? _Yourself_?” 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Alexius sighed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “All we can do is wait for the End.” Dorian and Lavellan spoke at once.

“What do you mean? What’s ending?” The Magister’s one-time apprentice demanded. 

“It does matter!” Lani protested. “I _will_ undo this.”

“How many times have I tried?” Alexius said spinning around to finally look at them. “The past can not be undone.” Lavellan was reminded of the note she had found in the Magister’s chambers. He had tired to fix time. To go back before the Conclave and the caravan that had something to do with Felix’s current state. But he had been unable to do so. Unable to alter anything before the Breach. “The irony that you should appear _now_ of all possibilities,” he said with grim shadow of a laugh. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? _Ruin_ and _death._ There is _nothing_ else. The Elder One comes for me, for you, for us all.”

Leliana, who had been right behind Lavellan last she knew, appeared on the dais. The rogue dragged a simpering form the elf had hardly noticed from the shadows, forced it upright, and held a blade to its throat. 

“Felix!” Alexius breathed in horror. 

“ _That’s_ Felix?” Dorian said in shocked horror. “ _Maker’s breath_ , Alexius, what have you done?” He demanded. 

“He would have _died_ , Dorian,” the Magister said, voice twisted with anguish as he held a placating hand out to the Leliana all but begging her to remain still. “I _saved_ him.”

“You didn’t _save_ him, Alexius,” Lani snarled, looking as the blank eyes and slack jaw of a man she had found to be wise, compassionate, and intelligent beyond his years. Drool trailed from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. “Your son never would ave want _this_. _No one_ should be forced live like _that_.”

“Please. Don’t hurt my son,” the once proud man pleaded desperately. “I’ll do anything you ask.” The rogues eyes narrowed cruelly.

“I want the _world_ back,” Leliana sneered.

In one clean motion she slit the young man’s throat, all the while staring down Alexius with cold sharp eyes. The thing that had been Felix made no protest as he had been restrained and no sound as he had been killed. He simply fell in a heap at Leliana’s feet. Gone. 

“No,” The Magister gasped. “ _No!_ ” The cry became a battle roar as he summoned power and lashed out. 

Lavellan had already been preparing her counter spell and she released it with an effort of will. Barriers closed around her friends and allies, blocking much of Alexius’s initial attack. This only seemed to enrage the magister more. He snarled and spat like a rapid animal, able to teleport himself across the room to dodge Cassandra’s sword and Leliana’s arrows. But it wasn’t enough.

One-on-one he may have been a more powerful mage than the Herald. He certainly had great skill in using his magic to misdirect his opponents. However, in terms of combative magic he lacked the force of Lani’s spell work. Perhaps, it was because she had needed to defend herself more over the course of her life than he had. Or perhaps she was simply better at it than him. Either way, between her, Solas, and Dorian, any magic he threw up they could tear down, counter, or redirect. 

That didn’t mean the battle was easily fought. They had to work for every inch they gained. One of Alexius’s spells found Lavellan, cutting through her barrier and burning a swath across her upper right arm. It hadn’t been a large bolt, but it had been potent. The raw power of the spell melting the protective armor and burning the fabric and skin beneath. She let out a snarl of rage and agony, switching her staff to the opposite hand and slamming it to the ground. Lightening arched out throwing the Magister back several paces. 

He bowed for a moment in pain then straightened with a mad crackle. Alexius cast one of the strongest barriers she had ever seen around himself, seeming to use the power of the Breach itself to fashion it. Then he torn a rift in the Veil open between himself and the agents. 

Demon tumbled through immediately seeking easy targets and finding them in the agents of the Inquisition. Lani disrupted the rift, bowing the demons just as Dorian sent a wall of flame racing across the room. Several gnarled creatures fell in that first attack. Several more did not. 

Ice lanced across the room, knocking a wraith into oblivion as it attempted to claw at Cassandra’s back. Arrows flew in all directions, striking demons and worrying Alexius’s shield. The rift was small and the demons relatively weak. In a matter of minutes, Lavellan was thrusting her hand at the rift and it snapped shut with a pop. The Magister let out of a snarl of frustration, his barrier falling the instant the rift sealed. 

Around and around they went. The agents driving the magister across the room with their acts. Alexius’s counter attacks growing wilder and more desperate. He managed to catch the padding of Cassandra’s armor aflame, but in was extinguished seconds later with a gesture from Solas. Another spell sent Dorian to a knee for a moment, Lavellan casting a barrier about him for protection while he steadied himself. But for all the blows Alexius got in, he took twice as many. 

In an act of desperation he tore open a new rift and sheathed himself in another of his wickedly tough barriers. Once more the agents were forced to change tactics. To go from fighting a mage to fighting demons. And once more they prevailed. Alexius’s barrier collapsing as the rift dispelled. 

The end was coming for him. In that he had not been wrong. While he had thought his death would come at the bidding of this ‘Elder One,’ it came instead in the form of a powerful dalish woman, face marked with the curving branches of Mythal, goddess of wisdom and justice. Blood and ichor staining her skin and clothes. The armor around her wound still glowing subtly. 

An ice bolt sent the wounded Magister stumbling backwards up the steps of the dais. There he sneered down at the Herald as she stalked toward him. Her movements were slow and loose, her muscle wound like coiled springs. She stared at him as she moved, eyes never faltering from their target, never so much as blinking. Hair dislodged from the events of the last few hours, fell about her face and shoulders in a black tipped mane. _A thing of wild feral beauty,_ Solas mused, a predatory grin tugging at his lips as he watched her move in for the kill. 

Lavellan raised her hand, palm up. An orb of violet fire, ends of the licking tongues tinted faintly green, formed before her. The Magister’s eyes widened and he made to cast. The elf released the spell with a gentle breath. Blowing it toward him as a child might the tuffs of a dandelion. But for all the seeming slowness of her movements the orb hurtled toward him with tremendous speed. He hadn’t had time to create even the simplest of barriers before the concentrated flame struck him full in the chest, launching him several feet through the air. His eyes were blank and glassy by the time his body settled to the floor.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he,” Dorian said quietly, sweat from the fight carved clean paths down his face as he stood beside Lani staring at the fallen man. “Those lies he told himself? Just justifications. He lost Felix long ago. Didn’t even notice,” he said sadly. “Oh Alexius.”

“This Alexius was too far gone,” Lavellan said gently. “The Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with.”

“I suppose that’s true,” the tevinter mage conceded. Dorian bent down and retrieved something from around the magister’s neck. “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it is the same one we made in Minrathous,” he said studying it. “Must be.” He turned to the dalish elf beside him. “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour,” cried Leliana in disbelief as she hurried to join them on the dais, shoving reclaimed arrows back in her quiver. “That’s impossible! You must go now!” 

At that moment, a great roar rattled the building, shaking dust from the high rafters. It was loud and oddly warped as the voices of those corrupted by red lyrium were. _A dragon? A corrupted dragon?_ Lani thought in horror. _Creators have mercy!_

“The Elder One,” Leliana hissed. 

“You can not stay here,” Solas said, his voice frantic and fearful. _If they don’t get back… If Lavellan doesn’t change this…_ He met the Herald’s eyes. There was something in them, she thought, beneath all the anger, agony, and fear there was something… _more_ … He looked away abruptly before she could say anything. “We’ll hold the outer door,” he said gesturing to Cassandra and himself. “When they get past us… It is your turn.”

The muscles of Lani’s jaws flexed and tightened. Her teeth grinding so hard it hurt. She nodded once to him and said simply but firmly, “We’ll make this count.”

_No,_ Lavellan wanted to shout. _You can’t! I won’t let you die for me like this. I won’t let you commit suicide._ But she knew. Knew her only chance to truly save them was to make it so not of this ever happened. And her only hope of doing that was if they walked out those doors and fought for every last second they could give Dorian. 

She did not trust herself to speak further. She kept her words short and her jaw tightly clenched against the emotions that welled up within her. She watched Solas and Cassandra, glowing red and dying, push through the door and out into what would be their last stands.

“Look at us,” Leliana said to Lani after she had barred the way behind mage and warrior. It was as if she could sense the elf’s thoughts. “We are already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” She turned away then. Arrow being fitted into place. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

Dorian began muttering and chanting under his breath. The amulet flowed in the air before him. Lavellan listened helplessly to the sounds of battle just outside the doors, drawing ever closer. She heard Solas cry out. The sound harsh and jarring and ending far to abruptly. She flinched. Her eyes stung even as her shoulders squared. Knuckles white upon her staff.

“Though darkness closes,” Leliana began to recite raising her bow and aiming at the door just as Cassandra let out a pained shout, “I am shielded by _flame_.” 

The doors burst open. Splinters flying in all directions. The largest fear demon Lavellan had ever seen threw Cassandra’s limb body across the threshold. It landed in a bloody heap, sliding a pace or two before coming to a stop. Armor mangled, bone visible in several wounds, a red trail smeared across stone. Beside her it flung Solas. What was left of him. He had not worn armor near as heavy as the Seeker’s. The demons and Venitori had overwhelmed him, ripping apart his robes and the soft tissue beneath with extreme prejudice. 

Lavellan gasped, the hot tears finally falling. Everything in her wanted to charge, to make them pay, to take from them all they had stolen from her. It felt wrong that to do that she had to stand there and watch her friends _die_! 

“Fen’Harel take you!” she roared in challenge. Power arched around her hands and up and down the length of the sturdy staff. She channeled the energy outward in a rush, focusing it on the fear demon. It bellowed in agony as hot white, emerald, and amethyst flame danced over its sickly green flesh. The Dalish First might not be able to move from her position upon the dais, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t fight. Lighting, flame, and- for the first time- frost, flew her staff. 

“Andraste guide me!” the withered spymaster shouted from her position several paces ahead of the elf, arrows singing from her bow at the on coming horde. “Maker, take me to your side!” Her voice held no fear. Her defiance ringing off the stone walls. Man and demon fell, but for all her and Lani’s success they had not so much as put a dent in the enemy numbers. A Venitori bolt pierced Leliana through the shoulder causing her to cry out. 

Lani moved forward instinctually, but Dorian grabbed her arm. Stopping her.

“You move and we all die!” he shouted. She turned to look at him with wide reddened eyes. Beneath the fear and the desperation she found there, was understanding. A will to fix this that matched her own. She stilled, nodding. 

Lavellan watched as the spymaster loosed arrow after arrow, even as she loosed bolt after arcane bolt. The army of foul beasts gained more ground than they lost. Lani could not look away, feeling it to be a betrayal if she did not bare witness to the deaths of her allies. 

Leliana screamed as the creatures fell upon her. The teaming, roiling mass swallowing her from sight. Her cries soon dying away. 

That great booming roar once more rang off the castle walls. Outside the broken doors the damnable dragon landed. _Something_ upon its back. Lani stared at it in disbelief as it prowled toward the entry. Its tinny, warbling cry echoing in the elf’s mind. _We aren’t going to make it,_ she thought. _They’re coming too quickly. There are too many._ She closed both hand on her staff and made to make her final stand…. 

Again Lani felt that unpleasant tug deep in her chest. She shut her eyes against the sensation. When she opened them again, she and Dorian were still in the throne room of Redcliffe’s castle, but the room was bright and clean and her friends and fellow agents stood gathered behind her. There were no demons. No corrupted dragon. No ominous stains, nor smell of charred flesh or stench of death. 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Dorian was saying cockily to Alexius as if they hadn’t just emerged from a fight for their lives and all of Thedas’s future. 

The Herald of Andraste took a shaky breath, glancing at both Cassandra and Solas to reassure herself they were alive and well and with her. Satisfied that they were safe and whole her fear and adrenaline turned quickly to fury and defiance. 

The elvhen man’s head tilted to the side, concern flashing across his features as he studied her soiled face, her flyaway hair, and the blood stained tear in her melted armor. Something about her felt different, altered in someway he could not describe. The very aura of her making the hair of his arms rise. She and their tevinter ally had vanished no more than a few moments before and yet she looked as if she had been plucked from battle fields of Hell. Lavellan had become something wild and untamed and wounded. Something dangerous. 

“Is that the best you’ve got,” she sneered, glad that the sweat from the fighting a few minutes before hid the tears she had shed watching those she cared about die in some horribly twisted future. The crackling power that had surrounded her upon arrival dulled, becoming a low thrum that begged confrontation and promised violence if challenged. “Put aside all claim to Redcliffe and we let you live,” she snarled. No challenge rose to meet her. 

“You won.” Alexius slumped to his knees in defeat. “There is not point in extending this... _charade_.” He glanced up at his still standing son. “Felix,” he said, brow creasing in sorrow and fear.

“It’s going to be alright, Father,” said the young man, kneeling and resting a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder. 

“You’ll _die_ ,” the Magister sobbed, voice cracking in anguish.

“Everyone dies,” he soothed.

Leliana’s agents moved forward once Felix had stepped back and bound the Magister, taking him into Inquisition custody. Felix followed after of his own volition, speaking quietly with his Father and with the agents. 

Lani watched them go in silence. Her heart rate was finally slowly. Deep breathes becoming shallower, more relaxed. As they did so, the cloud of magically energy around her melted away. She shook herself. Long fingers idly worked the lacing from her disheveled hair, combed it back hastily, and rebounded it in a long pony tail. It was nothing fancy but it would keep the tresses out of her face and hopefully lessen her no doubt frightful appearance. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s over with.” Dorian said as the agents disappeared through the front entry. At that moment, men filed in. Heavily armed and armored men. Metal polished to an incredibly high shine. Boot beating a deafening rhythm upon the hard stone floors. “...Or not,” the mage added darkly as the soldiers came a halt in two long gleaming lines that ran from the throne room, out the main door, and as far as Lani could see. In unison the men turned on their toes, the two lines facing one another, each and every one of them with their hand resting upon the hilt of their blade. 

Up the center of the two lines, came a tall elegant woman in a flowing gown. She wore a shining breast plate of her own over her bodice and a sword hung from a belt at her waist. While Lavellan was fairly certain the woman’s armament was more for show or ceremony than actual battle, she had to admit that it lent the woman a striking silhouette of strength and authority. 

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” the blonde woman beckoned, as she came a stop at the head of the crisp rows of men. Anger distorted what would have normally been quite pleasant and lovely features. 

“Queen Anora!” Fiona gasped, coming forward and bowing deeply. 

“When I granted your mages sanctuary I thought it was understood they would not force my people from their homes!”

“Your Majesty!” the Enchanter breathed, wide-eyed. “Let me assure you. We never intended any of this!”

“Your intentions ceased to matter when my people were threatened,” the Queen snapped raising a hand. Light gleamed off the simple diadem upon her brow. “I am rescinding my offer of sanctuary. You and your followers will leave Fereldan at once!”

“But… we have hundreds who need protection!” Fiona stammered. “Where would we go?”

“I should point out that we _did_ come here for mages to close the Breach,” Lani said smoothly, wiping off her face on a cloth provided by one of Leliana’s agents. She was deeply glad to have had the foresight to tie back her hair moments before, but was somewhat nonplussed about meeting a queen in her current state of… _What?_ She looked down at herself. _Hellish future chic?_ Oh well. It wasn’t to be helped now.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona said, turned to eye the Herald shrewdly. 

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian scoffed. “The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?”

“I know you are a mage,” Cassandra said to Lani in warning as Solas bound the Herald’s arm for latter inspection. “But consider how these rebels have acted. They must be conscripted not coddled!”

“They have lost all possible support,” Solas said disagreeing with the Seeker, sorrow tinting his words. He secured the knot of the bandage and met Lavellan’s gaze. “The Inquisition is their only remaining chance of freedom.”

“It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer,” Fiona sighed, preparing herself for the worst. Lani was quiet for a moment as she thought. Then she took a step toward the former Grand Enchanter.

“We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side,” Lavellan declared to the room at large taking a step toward Fiona. 

“We’ll discuss this _later_ ,” Cassandra glowered quietly. 

“I will pray that the rest of the Inquisition honors your promise then,” Fiona said graciously though she cast a skeptically glance at the Seeker. 

“The Breach threatens all of Thedas,” Lani replied firmly, talking as much to Fiona as the warrior a few paces away. “We cannot afford to be divided now. We can’t fight it without you and any chance of success requires your full support.”

“Whether you accept the Inquisition’s alliance or not,” Anora said bowing her head to Lavellan briefly, which somewhat surprised the elf, “you will _leave_ my kingdom.” The force of her words begged no complains or protest. It was not a matter of discussion. Fiona nodded slowly, considering. Then she turned to the Herald. 

“We accept,” she said offering her hand. Lavellan took it. Fiona looked around them at the gathering mages and the stock still soldiers. “It would be madness not to,” she breathed. “I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed.” She bowed to Lani, a motion low and respectful. Aware that the dalish woman could have demanded any terms she wished and the enchanter would have been forced to except them. “You will not regret giving us this chance.”

Lavellan smiled at Fiona, bowed deeply to Anora, muttered a polite excuse, and left without another word. The sooner she was out of Redcliffe and the more distance she could put between herself and it, the better she would feel… She hoped…


	41. Darkness Lingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan struggles with what happened in the dark future. She seeks comfort in an old tradition from her youth and finds herself drawn a little closer to her fellow elven mage when it strikes a cord with Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I try my hand at writing elvhen. -side note- Mr. Gaider, if you could just release that handy cipher you use I'd be ever so appreciative. Thanks! In the meantime, please don't take offense to my butchering of your language. I'm gonna fake until I make it.

Queen Anora had offered Lavellan and her friends refuge for the night as the rebel mages would not be ready to leave for Haven until the morrow. The dalish elf had politely declined, but had told her companions they were welcome to stay in the village if they wished. She would simply meet them and the mages at the camp by the Cross Roads. All three had chosen to follow her. It was a relief, though she still had a hard time meeting Cassandra and Solas’s eyes.

The Herald said little as she mounted Thenvir and urged him into motion down the trail. There were no rogue templars or mages to slow their journey and they would likely reach the camp well before sun down. To Lavellan’s great relief Dorian filled in the others on what had transpired after Alexius cast his spell. The tevinter mage told them of the time travel, the dark future, the red lyrium poisoning, the events future Cassandra had warned them of, and Alexius’s reason for siding with this Elder One in the first place. He seemed all to happy to listen to his own voice and to be fair he had a rather nice one. He worked out his nervous energy by talk. Lani by quiet contemplation. They suited each other well.

Now and then Cassandra or Solas would ask a question. The Seeker usually about some detail of events suggested to happen in the next year. The Dreamer about magical theory, the spells Alexius and Dorian used, and their potential consequences. 

Lani said little as they rode. Answering questions directed at her in as few words as possible. A fact both of her long time companions noticed. Even Dorian cast worried glances her way, though he seemed the most content of the three to leave her to thoughts. She had felt ill since the events at Redcliffe and turned several shades paler as the conversation around her progressed.

Once at camp, Lavellan had taken longer than usual to unburden Thenerasvir. Using his upkeep as an excuse not to socialize. Brushing out his coat and tending to him with steady precise movements, savoring every moment of the simple tasks, using them as a focus to steady her rattled nerves. The horse seemed to sense her need. As she stood brushing the length of his muscular neck, he turned and pressed her gently against his shoulder with his board head. For a moment, her confidence faltered, her breath catching. Fingers reached up to lace through his thick mane. Face burrowed into his short coarse fur, she trembled. He held her there until her shivering stopped. Then Thenvir pulled away, large dark eyes gazing at her dolefully. Then he pawed the ground and snorted, shaking his head side to side so that his mane flipped and danced. The long fine strands tickle her skin where they fell. Even in her downcast state, the elf chuckled at the horse’s antics. Seemingly satisfied with this response, the stallion nibbled loving at her sleeve, got a scratch between his ears, and ambled off to graze. 

Lani watched him go then turned, stowed her belongs in a tent, and wandered over to the fire. The others had cobbled together a hot stew from nearby herbs, a fennec they’d caught on the way here, and some veggies donated to them by the gratefully refugees down the hill. It was a humble affair, but the smell of it overruled the uneasiness of her stomach. Cassandra passed her a stew ladened bowl as she walked by and the elf settled herself against a stump to eat.

“Herald?” Cassandra asked, gentle concern in her words. “Are you all right? You haven’t seemed yourself since Redcliffe.” Lavellan nodded mutely.

“Just tired,” she all but whispered as she sat in the fire’s warm glow. 

The stew was seasoned heavily with elfroot. No doubt Solas’s doing. The man had a fondness for the herb and it usually featured heavily in his cooking, especially when he was concerned about the health and well being of his traveling companions. She had seen him add extra to Cassandra’s and Varric’s dinner portions when they had been injured in fighting and he had suggested it when Lavellan was plagued by restless sleep or stress induced migraines. It was a sign he was concerned, likely by her melted armor and her distant mood, though Dorian had not escaped the dark future unscathed either. She ate in relative silence. Aware all the while of the Seeker’s eyes upon her. Bowl empty, she began to feel slightly better. _Elfroot is an amazing thing,_ she thought appreciatively. 

Lavellan had been so out of it she had paid little mind to her arm. But now, as exhaustion began to set in, the wound ached and burned beneath its binding. She picked at the knot Solas had tied and unwound the outer bandage. It came off easily enough, though the pad pressed to the injury itself clung stubbornly. At least she’d be able to get her robes off. It was a start. 

“Cassandra?” Lani asked, grimacing as she sat up straighter against the stump in order to better unbuckle her armored leg guards. “Would you mind helping me for a moment?”

“Of course,” the Seeker said, immediately rising and moving to the dalish elf’s side. “What do you need?” Lavellan stood, the motion slow and stiff.

“I’m not sure I can remove _this_ ,” she said gesturing to her soiled attire, “on my own. Mind helping me?” Distant emerald and gold eyes met warm hazel ones. Cassandra nodded. 

The warrior’s deft fingers set to work undoing buckles and lifting away the light plating. She did the wounded arm last and Lavellan let out a low hiss at the warped metal was pried away from the fabric and injury beneath. The Seeker helped the Herald out of her sweaty, damp, stained, and probably ruined robes, leaving the elf in her long sleeved under-tunic, leggings and boots.

“Ma serannas,” the elven woman breathed in pained relief, bowing slightly to Cassandra. 

Lani inspected her robes, nose wrinkling in disgust. There would be no salvaging them. _Good riddance,_ she thought tossing them over her shoulder in the direction of the fire. The armored additions were still in descent shape save for the one piece. She could replace or fix that once they were back in Haven. Satisfied, she disappeared into her tent and returned a few moments later in a clean sleeveless tunic. She added the ruined long sleeved one to the flames and sat heavily beside the fire to begin healing. 

Blood had stained the bandage long ago, but fresh scarlet was beginning to seep through once more at the abuse the wound had suffered in the removal of her clothing. It’s just as well, Lavellan supposed. She did not relish the idea of trying to peel off the padding whilst it clung to her mangled flesh. Solas must had thought the same thing for he appeared next her, a bowl full of steaming water that smelled strongly of healing herbs in on palm, a cloth in the other. 

He knelt, dipped the cloth in the bowl, then pressed it firmly to the stained padding. Warm water ran down Lani’s arm in rivulets from where it soaked into the gauze and loosened it. Eyes closed, she waited. Solas repeated the process twice more before the Herald’s eyes opened and she nodded to him. He withdrew to set aside the items and returned to see she had removed the dressing, her left hand over the wound on her right arm, beginning to will the injury closed. 

“I could do that if you wish,” he offered.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “But I think I can handle this one.” Lavellan smiled slightly at him, but the expression was hollow.

“Ma nuvenin,” he replied and backed away, keeping quiet vigil over her. She still would not look at him for any length of time and his and Cassandra’s presence seem to unsettle her as much as comfort her. _Odd,_ he thought as he watched her work. _Perhaps all that happened in the future was not revealed to us._ “Are you truly alright, Lavellan?” Solas asked, head titling to the side as it so often did. She nodded wordlessly. 

“We’ve… had a very long day,” Dorian said uncertainly, glancing nervously between the others. The Seeker and Fade-walker with their attentions fixed on the dalish woman looking utterly unconvinced by her assurances. The dalish woman doing everything in her power not to look at either of them. “I’m sure you must be incredibly tired, Lani. I know I am.” The wound had been ugly, but not bad. The Herald’s armor endured the worst of it. As it should. Given that she had taken her time healing, there likely wouldn’t be a scar. Not much of one at least.

She nodded slowly and rose. Thankful for the out. 

“I’m going to bed,” she said tossing the soiled gauze in the flames as she passed. 

“Or you sure-” Cassandra began worriedly as Lani turned to duck into her tent.

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” the elf muttered, the flap falling shut behind her. 

 

The instant no movement could be heard from inside the tent, Cassandra rounded on Dorian, eyes narrowing as her inner Seeker took over.

“What happened to her?” she asked pointedly. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“I… What… You…” He spluttered, taken off guard by the woman’s sudden intensity. 

“She’s changed. She hasn’t been herself all day,” the Seeker persisted. 

“The events in the future must have taken a greater toll on her than we expected,” Solas said quietly, brow lowered in concern as he gazed absently at the tent. Dorian studied the two of them for a long moment before he spoke.

“How long have you known her?” he asked.

“Several months, at least,” Solas said vaguely. “We’ve been traveling together ever since the explosion at the Conclave.”

“And you’re close?” 

_Yes,_ Solas thought. _Closer than I’d like._ Though her friendship had been both a surprise and a comfort to him of late. He said none of this aloud.

“I have grown to respect her. Enjoy her company,” Cassandra replied, wondering at what the tevinter mage was playing at. “I suppose I would consider us friends even if we view a great many things differently. Why does that matter?”

“I see,” Dorian said sagely. “I don’t know her as well as you do, though I’d like to think being trapped in time together allowed for some level of bonding. In any case…” He paused as if trying to find the right words. “We saw you _die_ ,” he said finally. “Both of you and Leliana. Witnessed you sacrificed yourselves so that we would have time to reverse the spell that sent us there in the first place.” Solas and Cassandra simply stared at him. Waiting. “They were not… nice deaths. Not clean. Not pretty. She watched unable to do anything to protect you for fear of missing our one and only chance. A chance _you_ provided. I think it’s been eating her alive since then…” He trailed off, lost in his own dark memories.

Cassandra stared at him in disbelief, tension rising in her posture. Solas said nothing, merely nodding solemnly.

“You… you couldn’t tell us any of this sooner?” Cassandra asked angrily. 

“And say what?” Dorian shot back. “‘Oh hi, nice to see you again. A few minutes ago we were staring at your mutilated corpse.’” He snorted darkly. “I had wanted to be able to stomach meal sometime this age, thank you very much. And I don’t know if you noticed, Seeker, but your Herald looked as though a light breeze might knock her off that impressive horse of her’s. I figured it was best we left the _nastier_ bits for another time.” 

Cassandra glared for a few moments longer then stilled, features softening. 

“You are right,” she said finally. “I am sorry. I just wish I’d known… I could’ve… I don’t know.”

“You are her friend,” he replied in a gentler tone. “You were concerned. No need to apologize.”

“Surely she can’t blame herself for our deaths?” The Seeker said pensively. “From what you say, we would have died anyway. Surely she can see she is the cause of our salvation, not damnation.” 

“I’m sure she is entirely aware of that point, Seeker,” Dorian said smoothly. “We are here after all, yes? But cold comfort that is when you still see your friends’ butchered bodies whenever you close your eyes.”

“You mentioned before Cassandra and I were suffering from this ‘red lyrium sickness,’” Solas said, brow furrowed in thought. “Was Leliana not as well?” Dorian paled, looking as though he might be overcome with rage or the need to vomit. It was a gamble as to which would prevail. 

“Ah no,” he said grimly. “She had been… They were using her… more to the point, using bits of her to study the effects of the Blight. She is apparently resistant to its corruption. The Venitori were experimenting with if you could cure someone with a transfusion of immune blood… or skin… or muscle.” He swallowed hard before continuing, skin taking on a sickly pallor. “You can’t by the way. The tissue dies or becomes corrupted. Leliana… was their favorite donor…”

“That’s barbaric!” Cassandra all but screamed, half raising, before quieting with a nervous glance at the Herald’s tent. 

“Yes,” Dorian agreed, disgust marring his handsome features. “Quite. Alexius would have done anything to cure Felix whether Felix wanted it or not. He’d lost everything. Couldn’t bring himself to see it.” His face contorted with bitterness and betrayal. “Felix would never have stood for that. But then, neither would the Alexius I once knew.” 

“If what you say is true..,” Solas began.

“It is,” Dorian huffed. Everyone here was so quick to distrust him. Sure the Imperium was full of liars and corrupt mages and underhanded dealings…. and… well… that was beside the point. _He_ had been nothing but truthful and downright useful if he did say so himself… which he did. The elf ignored him.

“…Then it is little wonder the Herald has been behaving strangely. One can hardly expect her to be unscathed after witnessing such abominations. Few could escape untouched.”

“Yes. I imagine I’ll be having nightmares for years to come,” Dorian shuddered. “A rather unpleasant thought. Even _I_ felt as though I were seeing ghosts after our return. For her…” his voice softened to gentle murmur. “It must be that much worse.” 

Solas’s jaw tightened as he stared darkly into the fire. This corrupted future the Herald experience was the culmination of _his_ failings. Had his mistakes not cost her enough already? 

Dorian eyed the elven man across from him pensively. He had noticed something in the way Lavellan had reacted to the elf’s future version. Something he was beginning to notice in this incarnation as well. _She loves him,_ he mused. _And I dare say, he might have feeling for her as well._

 

Nightmares of a rotting green sky and eery red light haunted her. Screams, cries, cruel laughter, and Liset’s dull rhythmic chant providing a sound track for the horror show. Demons and things unseen hunted her, hounding at her heels. She could all but feel their rending teeth and tearing claws worrying her boots and the cloak that flew out behind her as she ran desperately through the ruined landscape. The corrupted dragon’s shriek echoed as if from everywhere. “Kill the elf,” that deep twisted voice from the Temple demanded. She tripped. Falling. Screaming. Her left arm burning with furious green light that carved whirling furrows through her skin to her shoulder. The agony of it threatened to tear her very core apart. 

Lavellan woke with start, sitting bolt upright and gasping for breath. It had taken far more effort than she was used to to pull herself from the Fade. She sat quietly, face buried in her arms as they rested upon her knees, her body trembling and sweating in the cool air as the terror and emotions from the day before finally caught up to her in full. 

Every time she’d looked at Cassandra or Solas she saw their dead faces transposed over the living. Flashes of blood and gore spilling across a cold stone floor and lifeless eyes staring. The memories rushed her when she let her mind wander. Though the world outside the walls of the tent remained dark, she rose- knowing sleep would not return to her that night, nor did she want it to.

The dalish elf rummage through her pack for a mug and a pouch of her herbal mix and grabbed her hair brush. Solas let out a soft sound, but otherwise did not stir. She looked at him for a moment. Face still and peaceful in his slumber. Features unmarred by wound or lyrium. She let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and slipped from the tent.

A kettle of water was hung over embers. The fire stoked and new logs placed upon in. Then she sat in the warmth of its glow, undid her braid, and began to hum. It was an old song. So old in fact, that her Keeper did not know its origins. In order to not disturb her companions, she kept her voice low and gentle. Her hands moved slowly, methodically through her tresses, the lullaby hanging in the air like quiet bird song. Above her, a familiar constellation loomed. She found comfort in its soft twinkling light.

 

Solas wandered the comfortable landscape of the Fade. It felt more homelike to him than anyplace he had been in the waking world over the last year and a half. Ever shifting and yet always the same. He didn’t search for anything specific this night. Simply enjoying the feel of his surroundings and whatever the local spirits might choose to show him. 

Somewhere in the wild terrain a song could be heard, floating to him as if carried on a breeze. It was an ancient song. One he had not heard in a millennia or more. Even here in his dreams. Even when he had searched for memories like it.

Here and there wisps whirled and darted as if dancing in their own flitting, playful way. The elvhen man sat for a time upon a smooth rocklike outcropping, one leg drawn up while the other hung loosely, and watched the sprites’ merry flight. Smiling all the while at the simple beauty of their existence. 

He had expected the music to fade in time. To be a fragment of memory caught by some spirit and soon to pass into nothing as such fleeting things often do. But it remained, smooth and even and seemingly close at hand. 

The elf hopped lightly from his perch and glanced around, eyes closed, ears alert, allowing the subtle melody to declare its location. He walked. The impression of moss under his feet shifting and playing with the feel of wooden floors. A subtle perfume of lavender and lilac mixed with the stronger aromas of meadow grass and spring forests. Warmth, like that of a fireplace brushed his skin. Or perhaps it was a blazing campfire. He walked on. Absently following the comforting rise and fall of the hymn. 

 

Solas awoke. A fact that mildly confused him. Last he could recall he had been following the sound of singing through the Fade, searching for its source and whatever treasure may lay there. That search had led him… _here?_ He listened. Sure enough, the song was coming from out by the camp’s low fire. So quiet Solas had to focus on it to hear it. Only then did he notice the absence of his tent-mate. The elven man rose, shrugged into his robes, and left the tent for the world outside.

Lavellan sat in the glow of the flames, eyes closed, face relaxed and content as she brushed out her long hair. Her voice rose and fell in a steady rhythm. 

Solas stepped on a stick, somewhat intentionally, snapping it. The dalish woman let out a started noise, eyes flying open, the music dying in her throat. 

“I’m so sorry if I woke you,” Lavellan said sheepishly, hands stilling in their work as he approached.

“No matter,” he said quietly, a soft smile tugging his lips at her reaction to his appearance. “That song. Where did you learn it?” 

“Why do you ask?” she mused, headed tilting. Solas leaned comfortable against the tree beside her, still smiling. 

“It is one I have not heard anywhere in the waking world,” he replied smoothly. “I thought it only known in the deepest recesses of the Fade.” 

“A little piece of Elvhenan that survived all these years,” the dalish elf mused picking up on his meaning. “Fancy that.” She took up her brush once more before continuing. “To answer your question, my mother taught it to me. My _city-elf mother_.” She paused, entertained by the notion that it had been _that_ side of her family from whom she had learned the bit of ancient elvhen culture. “When I had nightmares as I child, she would sit with me, brush my hair, and sing that lullaby until I fell back to sleep.” She shrugged a little. “It always seemed to help all those ages ago. Kept the nightmares at bay. I figured it might now as well.”

“And has it?” 

“So far? Yes,” Lavellan said simply and warmly, quiet reflection in her words. 

“Then by all means, do not stop on my account.” She nodded, smiling, and the melody rose from her once more as though there had been no interruption.

Solas settled to the ground at the base of the tree, fingers lacing over his middle, and listened with his eyes closed. Neither sleeping nor fully awake. Simply allowing Lavellan’s voice to wash over him and his mind to wander as it chose. She truly had a lovely voice. Perhaps not a world class singer, but many taverns would be glad to have a bard who sung half as well. It was smooth and rich and clear and quite pleasant to upon the ears. The sound was comforting, making him feel younger than his years. 

“…Irassal ma ghilas. Ma garas mir renan. Ara ma’athlan vhenas. Ara ma’athlan vhenas…” she finished softly, binding the end of her braid once more. 

Lani let out a deep contented sigh. Then picked up her mug, cradling it in long fingers. The fear and tension from the previous day had mostly faded. Banished at least for now. Replaced by quiet, somewhat detached contemplation. The sky had begun to lighten. The stars fade. A lovely mix of red, amber, and violet upon the horizon. 

“So we have gained the mages,” Solas sighed. “Excellent! They should be able to seal the Breach.” After a moment he sat up and asked rather gently, “You are certain you experienced time travel.” He studied her as he spoke. “Could it have been an illusion? A trick of the Fade?”

“I’ve been in the Fade before,” Lavellan said with a shrug. “I’d know it.”

“Point taken,” Solas replied with a subtle bow of his head. “What an amazing gift,” he breathed. “It is vital the Inquisition succeed to avoid the future you witnessed.”

“Most people have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea,” the elven woman smirked. “Time travel. Alternate futures. A glimpse at what could happen if we fail…” 

“I am not most people,” he said smoothly. 

“Perhaps _I_ am…” There was something dark and introspective in the words. 

“That I highly doubt,” he replied. 

She snorted and favored him with a wry smile. It was the first time since her return from the dark future that she had met and held his gaze. It surprised him how much he had grown accustom to such a small thing and how much its absences had affected him.

“I appreciate you talking with me about it,” she said, her wry smile becoming something gentler. Warmer. More inviting. “For sitting with me….And… for not being most people.”

“If you wish me to speak of Orlesian fashion, I may be at a loss,” the man grinned slyly. “Magical surprises I can handle.” She chuckled and he couldn’t help his grin from spreading. “Speaking of which… you should ready yourself.”

“For…?”

“This Elder One,” Solas said as though it were obvious. “You have now interfered with his plans twice. Once at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. And now again at Redcliffe. A being who aspires to godhood isn’t likely to ignore such an affront.” Lavellan sighed heavily.

“When you put it that way…” She gave him a flat look. “Just couldn’t let me enjoy the morning without raining on my parade, could you?”

“My apologies,” he replied with a muted huff of breath. 

“Meh. Don’t worry about it,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I would have come around to that realization eventually. Likely at an incredibly inopportune time like two in the morning or when a pride demon is about to behead me. At least, I got to hear the bad news from a pretty face.” He snorted in truth this time, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. She beamed a wicked little grin. 

_I knew it,_ Dorian thought with a smile as he listened lazily from inside his tent. _Such budding little love birds they are._

Lavellan’s face fell. A dark shadow passing over her once luminous features. 

“I watched you die,” she said quietly, voice bare above a whisper. “For me.” The words felt like a confession somehow. Something she hadn’t been able to voice before this moment. Perhaps in fear that voicing them would make them real.

“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “You must understand. In order for that future to have happened, Cassandra, Cullen, I, and the rest must have failed. You have given us a second chance. And this time we will not fail.” 

“How can you be so sure?” She sounded uncertain, broken in a way he had not heard before. She looked away from him, staring unseeing into the flames before her. “I lost them, Solas. I lost all of them.” Lavellan fingered the pendant around her neck and he thought he knew of the ‘them’ to which she spoke. “All it took was a year and everything I care about, everything I love was gone. All those who relied on me. I failed them… I failed-”

“Lethallan,” he said gently. She stilled, head lifting to meet his eyes. Sadness and remorse momentarily shocked into surprise then a subtly building warmth. Solas had never called her ‘lethallan’ before. He had always kept a buffer between _her_ people and himself. It was something she had come to accept. A distance she wasn’t sure they would ever bridge. But he had just called her kin. _His_ kin. “Venavis. Dar din’abelas na bel’enfanim. Telsulevin. Tel’enasalin tu na taren. Dirthara sulevin in na’lath tu'vir enansal.”

“Tel’in melava,” she said with a small acknowledging smile. “Sahlin hellathen elvarel.” 

“Indeed,” he said with a small warm smile. 

Lavellan nodded. Her eyes closed and she drew in a slow breath, held it, and released it. Something meditative in the action. She shook herself, though whether it was a shudder or a shiver, Solas was uncertain. They gazed into the fire for a time. Her eyes appearing honey colored in the warm light.

“You are right of course,” she said finally. “I have already changed that future. Now all I can do is work to prevent its like.” 

“Seeing as you were not present at all for the creation of that future, I would imagine we are already heading in a better direction,” Solas offered lightly. 

Lavellan snorted and sipped from her mug. The others would be up soon. Then they and the rebel mages would begin the trek back to Haven. She was not looking forward to what her advisors would have to say of the alliance she had just foisted upon them. It would no doubt be… colorful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much elvhen.... 
> 
> Ma serannas= My thanks/thank you  
> Ma nuvenin= As you wish
> 
> -Following from 'Mir Da'len Somniar'- courtesy of DA: The World of Thedas Volume 2-  
> Irassal ma ghilas = Wherever you shall go  
> Ma garas mir renan = Follow my voice  
> Ara ma’athlan vhenas = I will call you home  
> Ara ma’athlan vhenas = I will call you home
> 
> Lethallan= casual familiar greeting similar to kin, cousin, or clansman
> 
> Venavis. Dar din’abelas na bel’enfanim. Telsulevin. Tel’enasalin tu na taren. Dirthara sulevin in na’lath tu'vir enansal. = Stop. Do not be sorry for your many fears. Nothing is certain. But do not give them victory over your thoughts. Seek truth in purpose from your love in order to triumph over lose. 
> 
> Tel’in melava. Sahlin hellathen elvarel. = Don't dwell on the past. In this moment, the noble struggle continues.


	42. Uneasy Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan gets an earful from her advisors, but things go better than she feared they might... so far at least.

“It’s not a matter for debate,” Cullen stated firmly. “There _will_ be abominations among the mages and we must be prepared.” 

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance,” Josephine shot back, “it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.” 

Lani could hear the advisors’ angry voices long before she could see their silhouettes. She had delayed the inevitable long enough. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she rounded the corner from behind which she had been listening and made her wary approach to where they were gathered at the end of the Chantry’s main hall. Cullen rounded on her at once.

“What were you thinking turning mages loose with no oversight?” He demanded. “The Veil is torn open!”

“We need them to close the Breach,” the elf said calmly and with as much authority as she could muster. The Commander could be a very intimidating person when he wanted to be, but she believed her decision was the right one. “It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.” Which was true and a large part of the reason she had made the mages allies in the first place. Too many saw them as enemies. Perhaps, if they played their roll well fewer would in the future.

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves,” Cullen growled. “And how many lives will be lost if they fail? With the Veil broken, the threat of possession…” He sighed rubbing at his brow in frustration. At that moment, Cassandra appeared, giving him a new target for his wrath. “You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?”

“While I may not completely agree with the decision,” she said giving Lavellan a side long look, “I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid. That was accomplished.” A wave of warm relief washed over Lani at the Seeker’s words. She would say this for the woman, when Cassandra decided to have your back- she had it, whether she agreed with your every choice or not. 

“Ah. The voice of pragmatism speaks,” said Dorian brightly straightening from where he leaned against a pillar in shadows and coming to join the discussion. “And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra said, giving the tevinter mage little more than a passing glance. 

“I got a taste of the consequences if we fail,” the dalish woman breathed. “Let’s make sure we don’t.”

“We will not fail,” the Seeker declared. The warrior’s conviction near palpable.

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said pensively from her shaded corner. “The assignation of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do,” Dorian mused darkly. “Orlais falls. The Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone.”

“One battle at a time,” rumbled Cullen. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” He turned directly to Lavellan, his features softening. “Join us. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.” The elf nodded. In that moment she realized his anger was not directed at her, not entirely at least. In fact, it may not even be anger at all, but rather fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the risk the mages posed. But perhaps most of all, fear that he would not be able to protect all whom he had set out to. 

“There goes my nap,” the elf said returning the small smile he gave her. “Thank you. I’d be honored to help with the plans.”

“Meet us there when you are ready,” said Josephine with a polite smile.

“I’ll skip the the war council,” said Dorian. “But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

“Then you’re… staying?” Lavellan asked shocked but not displeased. 

“Oh. Didn’t I mention?” He said with all his usual dry sass. “The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little piece.”

“I must admit,” she snorted. “I’m surprised.”

“We both saw what could happen,” the other mage replied, features shadowing. “What this ‘Elder One’ and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have worked for eons against this sort of madness. It is my duty to stand with you. That future will _not_ come to pass.” Lavellan nodded. It was _his_ world too. The reputation of _his_ country called into question. 

“There’s no one I’d rather me stranded in time with. Future or present,” she said with a rueful smile. 

“Excellent choice!” he beamed. “But lets not get ‘stranded’ again anytime soon, yes?” 

“I’ll begin preparations for to march on the summit,” Cullen said drawing the meeting to a close. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”

 

“So the Inquisition supports free mages?” Dorian mused as he and Lani left the Chantry for the bright and glaring world outside. “What’s next? Elves running Halamshiral? Cows milking farmers?”

“Give me time,” the dalish elf shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll surprise you.”

“I suspect that’s untrue,” he said pensively. “Unless you strip yourself naked and allow the Chantry to flog you into repentance. That _would_ surprise me.” Lavellan laughed.

“It would surprise me too. Do stop me if I ever give the idea much thought.”

“Gladly.”

“So I take it you don’t agree with my choice to make the mages allies.”

“On the contrary, I approve! Heartily! But I do wonder if you’ve considered what that support of yours will do.” She looked up at him, a question written across her feature. “For mages in general, I mean. The Inquisition is seen as an authority. You’ve given southern mages a license to be like… well… mages back home.”

“If that means they’re anything like you, I approve.”

“Ha!” He scoffed. “There aren’t many mages back home like me.” 

“Humph,” she snorted. “I believe that.”

“I never fit in,” he sighed shaking his head. “Blood stains are so difficult to clean you see.”

“So what? We’re doomed to to a future of blood magic then? They all turn into blood mages, worship dragons, and take over?”

“Not at first. But you’d be a fool to not see where this could lead.” Dorian paused for a moment as if searching for the right words. “The thing is, the Imperium was once just like the south. Templars. Proper Circles. All that rot. Then it changed. By inches. Not that this is reason to oppress us… but still. My homeland should be a cautionary tale not a source for inspiration.”

“A fair point,” Lavellan conceded. “I don’t see this as a move to emulate the Imperium, but I can see how others might and twist it to their advantage. It will be something to keep in mind.” They stopped at a splitting of the path, turning to face one another. “Have you gone to see Alexius yet?” the Herald asked gently. “He’s in the cells.”

“Not yet, no,” Dorian said with a forlorn glance at the Chantry. “I saw him before they locked him up. He looked… despondent. Broken. Not the man I remember. Nor the one I want to.”

“I don’t think I can blame you for that,” Lani said quietly. “I’m not sure I’d want to either were I in your shoes.”

“I suppose the Inquisition will judge him eventually,” he sighed. “I wonder if there is any chance they’ll show him mercy. He hardly deserves it, but for Felix’s sake. I can’t help but hoping there’s something left of the man I once knew.”

Lavellan squeezed his arm in reassurance, giving him a comforting smile. She didn’t know what the Inquisition had planned for the disgraced magister. But she would stand by Dorian side when the time came. 

Leliana caught the Herald’s eye from across the courtyard and waved her over. 

“I’ll talk to you later, Dorian.” 

“Don’t go killing anyone without me,” he replied cheerfully. He waved lightly at the Spymaster then turned and strolled off toward the tavern. 

Lavellan hurried across the snow covered ground and ducked into the spacious tent Leliana used as her headquarters. There she made herself comfortable, leaning against the tent’s sturdy center pillar.

“Your open support for the mages likely earned you enemies,” the rogue said, resting against her makeshift desk in a mirror of Lani’s relaxed pose. “Our agents will monitor the situation. If the most opposed can be identified, we may still turn this to our advantage.”

“You’re always looking for some way to benefit aren’t you?” The elven woman asked with a appreciative smirk. 

“It’s what I’m here for,” Leliana shrugged. “Regardless, I applaud you for the courage to stand up for the mages.” The Herald dipped her head in warm acknowledgment then paused. She worried her lip before speaking, unsure quite how to put to words her feelings for the woman before her, but knowing all the same they need to be voiced. 

“In Redcliffe, you sacrificed yourself so that I could return here,” she said at last.

“Of course I did,” Leliana said brightly, giving the elf a reassuring smile as if guessing the nature of her disquiet. “One small life in exchange for a second chance at history? I’ve always loved a bargain.” Lavellan snorted. The rogues eyes sparkled. 

“It was still a sacrifice and still noble,” she said warmly with a respectful bow of her head.

“And I would do it again,” the spymaster said without hesitation. Leliana could be intense, scary even in her cunning, and was damn fine at her job. But it was her heart, the quiet strength of her convictions that Lavellan respected most. 

“I’ll leave you to your work,” she said with a polite smile before ducking from the tent. 

 

The news of the mage alliance garnered mix reactions from The Herald’s companions. Blackwall had seemed rather neutral on the topic, admitting that there had never been an easy way to handle the mage/templar crisis and that he supposed everyone deserved a chance. The Iron Bull and Sera had been freaked out. The former a great deal less than the latter. Though Krem’s comments on helping the Inquisition’s troops learn to fight alongside mages may explain some of that. Bull knew mages had a purpose and could be valuable even if they did weird him out a bit. On the other hand, Lavellan wouldn’t be at all surprised it Sera took to sleeping with the ravens just to be as far for the mages as she could get herself. 

Vivienne had reacted poorly to say the least. Lani was quite sure her standing in the Enchanter’s mind had dropped several pegs. Not that she minded overmuch. The feeling was rather mutual.“Paint a cage any way you like, my dear, a cage is still a cage,” the Enchanter had said in reference to the dalish’s elf ‘life on the run’ as though her magical status was the only reason she had been hunted. One who lives in a gilded cage and is eager to return to it should not wax poetic on such things to Lavellan point of view. Though she doubted Vivienne would see the irony in her own statements. While Marcher born, she did claim to be proudly Orlesian after all. Her lack of understanding of the culture, plight, and struggles of the elves could be forgiven… or not. The dalish Herald tended to lean towards ‘not.’

Varric, like Blackwall, had been relatively neutral on the whole thing. He was far more concerned about the presences of the corrupted lyrium. 

“Red lyrium in Fereldan, infecting people, and growing out of them? That’s _bad_. Finding more of it really punches a hole in my ‘red lyrium at the Temple was a coincidence’ theory.”

“How long does it take for red lyrium to grow?” Lani asked. “How fast can it spread?”

“It took years to infect people in Kirkwall,” Varric shrugged, “but no one there was actually ingesting the stuff.” He shuddered. “This ‘Elder One’ managed to take the worse thing I can think of and make it worse. That’s an accomplishment.”

“I’d like to keep hoping it’s a coincidence, if you don’t mind,” Lavellan agreed. “I need to be able to sleep at night.”

“Honestly… I think I’ll give up sleeping for the foreseeable future,” he said looking a little nauseous. “I’ve got people trying to find out where the red stuff came from. I think, maybe we should make that a priority.” The dwarf shook himself as though that action would somehow dispel the dread that had settled over him. He tried to force his voice to something more cheerful and had some, if not complete, success. “But… that’s enough doom and gloom. You just won a big victory for the Inquisition! What are you going to do to celebrate?” 

“I was planning to put my feet up,” the elf said lightly. “Maybe grab a nap. You?”

“Whatever I do, it’ll be as far from Cassandra as I can get,” he said dryly. “Things should be calm around here for at least the next hour. Take a moment to enjoy it. If the world’s about to end, I’m sure the Seeker will let us know.”

On that note, Lavellan had laughed and gone in search of the warrior in question. She supposed she should get the whole ‘we’ll discuss this later’ speech over with before dinner. Cassandra had been kind enough to wait until they arrived in Haven, but, in Lani’s experience, it was best not to let such things fester. As she approached the training grounds, the Herald became aware of the sound of angry voices.

“And what are we supposed to do exactly?” A middle aged man in circle mage robes was saying. His voice was high and nasally and even Lani found that it grated on her nerves quickly.

“What you always do,” the Seeker said rolling her shoulder to take another swing at the practice dummy in front of her. “Complain.” There were subtle warning signs in the warrior’s posture that indicated the man should leave or face her wrath…which had the potential to mean her sword. He, however, was utter oblivious to the danger. 

“We’ve already spoken with Commander Cullen,” he persisted. “No one listens. We want better quarters! We want the templars kept at a distance. And some respect for…”

“This is not the Circle,” Cassandra said wheeling on him, lips pulled up in a snarl. “You mages are our _allies_ not our _wards._ Act like it!”

“How are we supposed to…”

“Deal. With. It,” the Seeker growled harshly. 

Lani picked that moment to walk over for fear that the mage might continue his badgering and end up _as_ Cassandra’s practice dummy. Not that she thought the Seeker would actually do such a thing, but she could all but see the daydream flitting across the other woman’s thoughts. 

The mage glanced between the two of them, obviously hoping the dalish mage would side with him. She didn’t. In fact, she gave him a charming smile and made a little ‘shooing’ gesture with her hand. He huffed and stormed away to… someplace else, Lani supposed. Likely looking for a more sympathetic ear. _No one said freedom would be easy,_ she shrugged. 

“It never ends,” Cassandra growled. “Evidently.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Lavellan agreed with a weary chuckle.

“I just don’t know who told them _I’m_ the one to yell at.”

“Is it that bad?”

“The mages are here as equals. They need to get used to what that means. It is _your_ doing after all,” she said pointing at the elven women. “ _You_ created this alliance.”

“I had to think on my feet. And I did what I could,” Lavellan said defensively. Cassandra paused, a realization seemed to dawn, the anger melting away. 

“Oh. I do sound like I’m blaming you, don’t I,” she said quietly. “I don’t disapprove. In fact, you did well.” Her words were earnest and slightly apologetic. “You made a decision when it needed to be made. And here we are. I wish I could say this was my doing.” That was not quite the telling off the elf had expected. 

“We wouldn’t be here at all if _you_ hadn’t stood up to the Chantry,” she countered.

“You’re being kind.”

“You’re discounting your role in this.”

“Let’s close the Breach. Then we can say how successful I was.” They stood for a moment, admiring the view together, watching the ripples of light that flowed across heavens. The Herald let out a quiet self-satisfied giggle and the Seeker turned to peer at her. 

“You were right about one thing, Cassandra.”

“Oh?”

“I am rather clever, aren’t I?”

“Close the Breach,” the warrior snorted. “Then I’ll agree with you.”

 

As Lavellan approached the city gates to make her way back to the village center, she noticed the Ambassador speaking to a dwarf she did not recognize. She paused a short distance way, listening. No one said she wasn’t allowed to eavesdrop around camp and if the meeting were meant to be secret it likely wouldn’t be happening in broad daylight with people coming and going. 

“Who was she, Ambassador?” The Herald asked striding over once it seemed their business had been concluded, the dwarf having nodded respectfully and wander off to places unknown. 

“A merchant,” Josie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I thought we should reach out to the dwarves to secure lyrium for the Inquisition’s mages. According to Lady Korpin,” she gestured after the woman, “it raised the ire of the Chantry.”

“Not really surprising,” the elf mused. “It seems everything we do raises their ire. Including continuing to breath. How is this any different?” Josephine chuckled lightly.

“Access to lyrium makes us rather more formidable than anticipated,” she said with a knowing smirk, turning and leading the way into the village proper. “We’re becoming a challenge. Sadly, the remaining Grand Clerics seem to be consolidating the Chantry’s power instead of comforting the masses.” A villager called out a blessing to the Herald as they passed and the elf waved, favoring the woman with a smile. Josie’s eyebrow quirked, her features warming, but she said nothing. 

“Mage Circles started falling years ago,” Lani sighed as if nothing had happened. _Perhaps the gesture was an unconscious one,_ Josie mused. _If so, it says volumes of Lavellan and why the people have grown to love her… and the Chantry fear her._ “The Chantry was troubled even before the Divine’s murder.”

“Yet many continue to bare it great love,” Josie replied smoothly. “We will not benefit from its decline. Little but the Chantry ties Orlais, Nevarran, Fereldan, Antiva, and even Rivan to a common cause.”  “Has the Chantry truly promoted such peace?” The elf asked a little surprised and somewhat skeptical as they paced up the steps to one side of the villages main fire. Smiling at Varric as they passed. 

“Andraste’s Chant is familiar across kingdoms, a source of many shared customs. That is the crucial point. Common ground is the start of all negotiations.”

“I suppose a shared faith can be useful when talking to strangers,” Lani granted thinking on interactions with over dalish. “Then again, families often fight the hardest.”

“Having grown up among four siblings, I concede your point,” Josephine said with a delicate snort of agreement. “I have found however, that the only time two parties can not negotiate is when they cease to speak. And these similar interests are merely where we begin. We must learn to think beyond our own wants to secure peace in Thedas.”

“Planning to steer the history of the world, Ambassador Montilyet?” Lavellan teased. 

“I believe the Inquisition is already charting that course,” she said with a small smile. “Which brings me to a question, if you have a moment.” She stopped in front of the Chantry doors and turned to face the Herald.

“Of course,” Lani said brightly. “What can I do?”

“The remaining grand clerics sent a missive inquiring about the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” she explained. “They demand to know whether the Inquisition officially claims that Andraste saved you from the Breach. If it were up to you, how would you reply?”

“Will my answer change your reply to the Chantry?”

“If Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen, and I could agree on our official stance, I could answer that,” the Ambassador said wearily. “We should decide soon. The revered mothers don’t seem to know what to make of you.” The dalish elf thought for a minute, debating what her answer should be. She sighed heavily. It would be what it always had been. 

“I’d tell the Chantry I was saved by circumstance not divine intervention.”

“Yet as rumors you’re Andraste’s Herald grow, the Grand Cleric’s may not believe such a humble reply,” Josephine said pursing her lips thoughtfully. “A difficult situation and I thank you for your answer.” They bowed to one another and the Ambassador slipped inside the heavy wooden doors.

Lani turned, intending to head back to her cabin or perhaps the tavern. However, her train of thought was derailed when she found herself face to face with Mother Giselle. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that the Chantry cleric would wish a moment of her time given resent events. And she’d admit that she rather it come from Mother Giselle than Chancellor Roderick. That man had it out for her it seemed. Still she found herself bracing for what she anticipated to be an uncomfortable conversation. 

“I understand you were instrumental in garnering the assistance of the rebel mages.”

“Yeah that was me,” the elf sighed. 

“It is well done.” Lani looked up, startled at the cleric’s statement. “And I pray this Inquisition fairs better that the Chantry in its handling of magic.”  “You disapprove of something the Chantry did?” the elven woman asked, eyes narrowing in confused thought. “Are you allowed to do that?”

“That largely depends upon one’s company,” Mother Giselle chuckled. “As I am surrounded by declared heretics already, I am safe enough,” she said gesturing around them. “In some ways, Andraste had the simple task. Magic should serve man and not rule over him. That tells us what should be, but does not tell us how to get there. So many time the methods of men have undone the spirit of their goals.” She shook her head in solemn thought then gave the Herald an appraising look. “Once you have sealed the Breach, we shall see whether this Inquisition is truer to the Chantry or its own namesake.” Lavellan snorted, taking the woman’s meaning. 

“How are the villagers in Haven doing?” she asked, concern in her voice. 

“You did well the gain the mages to your cause and the people have hope that the Breach may be sealed,” the cleric replied with a warm smile. “Some of them are returning to the lives they’ve fled. Others are starting fresh. In either case, they no longer believe the world as they know it is ending.”

“I hope I can keep that way,” Lani smirked. “I’m somewhat partial to this world.”

“As am I,” Mother Giselle beamed. She rested a papery hand on the elf’s shoulder for a moment then departed, continuing along the path in the opposite direction as the Herald. 

The dalish First drew in a lungful of the crisp mountain air. All things considered, it could have been worse. Soon the Breach would be closed… Hopefully… Then maybe she could go home. That was what she had been called upon to do after all. Close the Breach. That was why they needed her. Sure the mystery of the ‘Elder One’ remained, but there was little she could add to that cause that someone else could not and her first duty had to be to her clan. 

She shook herself, dispelling a chill and heading for the Tavern. She could hear what sounded like Bull, Sera, Varric leading the patrons in a some raunchy drinking song and found herself beaming. It would be something to think about… later, perhaps.


	43. Killing Time... And Corpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With time needed to train and ready the mages, Lavellan is sent to the Fallowmire. Along with the help of The Iron Bull, Dorian, and Solas, the Herald seeks to aid kidnapped Inquisition agents. They quickly find that bogs are places they'd rather avoid. Especially, this one. Disgruntled madness ensues.

“Go to the Fallowmire, they said. Take a break from the mountains, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” Lani made a growling groan low in her throat as she slapped a mosquito from her neck. “Someone remind me to punch Cullen when we get back to Haven.” 

“Make sure he is unarmored first,” Bull rumbled. “Might hurt your delicate little fists otherwise.” The elven woman glared up at him, which only made The Iron Bull chuckle more deeply.

“That’s assuming the man _is_ ever unarmored,” Dorian drawled. “He may well sleep in that getup for all we know. Must be hell on the neck…” he trailed off momentarily, shooing buzzing insects from his face. “I certainly haven’t seen him sans-armor. And believe me when I say I would remember it if I had.” He made a hungry humming sound that seemed resonate his ribcage. Bull’s eyebrow quirked, a tiny smirk tugging one lip, but he said nothing. 

It would take time to ready the mages for their coordinated attempt to seal the Breach once and for all and so the Inquisition’s advisors, in all their infinite wisdom, had deemed it necessary to send the Herald and a few companions to sort out some trouble with the Avvar. They quietly forgot to mention said Avvar were camped out in stinking, rotting, Creator-foresaken _bog_. 

“I swear they’re punishing me,” the dalish elf sighed. 

“Because you chose to side with the mages and make them our allies rather than prisoners?” Solas mused. 

“Precisely,” she glowered. “If they didn’t want me making grand sweeping decisions about the state of the world and this Inquisition than they shouldn’t give me missions with the potential to do just that. I’ll call it like it see it. Always have. This should surprise absolutely _no one_.” 

“You are sometimes about as stubborn and bull-headed as Seeker Cassandra, I’ll grant you that,” Dorian said smoothly. “Though perhaps a might more tactful,” he added after the look Lavellan sent his way.

There really was only one way into the swamps worth traversing and the Fisher’s End camp was situated at its head. A rather damp and harried looking Scout Harding was waiting at the edge of circled tents and hurried over as soon as she saw them. 

“Thank you for coming. Maybe you can solve this mess,” she said and Lani couldn’t help but notice the anxiousness in the dwarf’s voice. “Our missing patrols are being held hostage by Avvar- barbarians from the mountains.”

“What are they doing in bog?” The elven woman ask gesturing to the rainy murk around them. 

“That’s the thing,” Harding said hesitantly. “Their leader. He wants them to fight you. Because you’re the Herald of Andraste.” 

“Well fancy that. Same song different verse,” the elf said darkly. “What do _they_ have against Andraste?”

“Well. The Avvar think there are gods in nature, as in: the sky has a god and the forest,” Harding explained. “The Avvar say you’re claiming to be sent by one and they’ll challenge the will of your god with their own.” Her voiced lowered to something bitter and angry, quite unlike the normally jovial scout. “I think their leader is just a boastful little prick who wants to brag he killed you.” The Herald let out a breathy snort.  “Should I autograph something for him before he tries to behead me?”

“They think reading is for the weak,” the dwarf said mirroring the Herald’s snarky tone. “You know: scholars, lowlanders, Orlesian peasants.” She shook her head. “Getting to our troops won’t be easy. You’ll have to fight your way through undead.” The dalish woman blanched several shades. Harding noticed and eyed her shrewdly. “Wait… you’re not squeamish about undead are you?”

“They’re… not on the list of my favorite monsters,” Lavellan admitted.

“You’ll wanna stay out of the water then,” the scout smirked before her voice returned to its usual businesslike tone. “The Avvar are holed up in the castle on the other side of the Fallowmire. Maker willing, the Inquisition’s people are still alive.” 

 

“So many undead. So many bugs. And oh look! Demons!” Lavellan said in forced cheer. She had barely had time to stow her staff between attacks. “Have I mentioned how much I adore this place?” She all but snarled as she once more brought her staff to bare on the forms shambling out of the murk and the fear demon that had just ripped its way from the earth. 

“Really? I was thinking the same thing,” Dorian said flatly, fire shot out before him in a long lance, setting the oncoming horde alight. “Perhaps we should build vacation cabins here. Side by side. Then when we get tired of being warm and dry and not covered in filth we can retire here and turn into moldy, moss covered prunes together.”

“Sounds lovely.” Lighting arched out from the grumpy elf sending a few undead back to their graves. “For the love the Creators, or the Maker, or whoever the hell you worship- get your giant horned ass out of the water, Bull!”

“Aww come on, Boss…”

“ _Now_ , Bull!” Solas tired and failed to stifle chortle as he threw down barriers over his companions. The Herald would likely kill him if he ever said anything aloud, but Lavellan’s foul-mooded snark could occasionally be quite charming. When it wasn’t directed at him, that is. “I’ve had enough contact with these slimy, filth covered, disease infested…,” she trailed off in a string of colorful curses, her staff lashing out in time to her rant, “…sacks of rotting shit for ten lifetimes. I don’t need you going off and stirring up more of them! We have enough _friends_ thank you very much!”

The Iron Bull charged up the hill and swung the ridiculously large battle axe he carried in a sweeping arch to strike down a corpse in line for Dorian’s back. The motion so close it stirred the mage’s hair, startling him. 

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” Dorian yelled.

“Dirty!” Bull all but sang as he wheeled away.

“Vishante kaffas!” the rattled mage swore. “I meant your weapon!”

 

“We have a Ben-Hassrath with us.” Dorian said, eyeing The Iron Bull up and down. “A spy. An actual Qunari spy. That doesn’t strike anyone as a bad thing?”

“Says the Vint. When we’re fighting Vints,” Bull countered.

“That’s...not a terrible point. Okay,” the tevinter mage conceded raising a placating hand. 

The little group moved along the creaking, rotting, water-slicked wooden walkways that served as paths through the bog. Hopping from little island to little island. 

On one of the larger sections of land- and by larger Lavellan meant you could put a house on it but not much else- they came across a hulking beast of man. He stood placidly scratching his chin and studying a shimmering viridescent slit in the air. The agents of the Inquisition made their wary approach unsure if the he was friend or foe. 

“If he goes for you, Boss, duck low so I can swing over your head…” Bull said quietly, stooping to put his head on a level with Lavellan’s.

“Noted,” she nodded never slowly her strides. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that…”

“So you’re Herald of Andraste,” the avvar man said turning from his thoughts to face the elven woman and her team. He was nearer to The Iron Bull’s height than her own, towering high in to the misty air. Heavy furs shrouded his muscular form, held in place by broad leather belts. His voice was deep and steady. Not unlike the roar of a waterfall echoing through a canyon. And while he cut an intimidating form, especially with the massive hammer slung across his back, there was an easiness to his demeanor that stilled Lani’s nerves. “My kin want you dead, lowlander. But it is not _my_ job. No fears from me.”

“Why aren’t you with the other Avvar?” she asked coming to a stop beside him. Bull leaned against his axe casually. Not making himself a threat, but keeping the weapon ready to bring forth if needed. He studied the avvar, sizing up the man in case a fight should occur. 

“Tryin’ to figure out this whole in the world,” the man said motioning to the tear in the Veil over their heads that had not yet become a full rift. “Never seen anything like its like. They spit out angry spirits. Endless. What the sky’s trying to tell us? I don’t know.”

“They’re cause by the Breach in the sky,” Lavellan explained. Perhaps a sharing of knowledge would help bond her people and his. It was worth a try at least. “Some kind of magic gone wrong.”

“I know that, lowlander,” he chided lightly. “I’m talking about the Lady of the Skies.” The elven woman stared at him blankly. “Do you not know her?” he asked surprised. “Can’t you see the warning she writes through the bird flocks in the air?”

“You use the patterns of flocking birds as an augury then?” Dorian asked intrigued. 

“We don’t _use_ them,” the Avvar man said turning to the tevinter mage. “They’re sent. You see it. Or you don’t.”

“That’s… rather interesting actually,” Lavellan admitted. She found herself wanting to sit, pour some tea, and chat with the big man about his culture, but the reason for her being in the foul place flashed across her thoughts, stopping her. She shook her head. “I thought the Avvar wanted to fight me?”

“Our chieftain’s son wants to fight you,” the man corrected. “I’m called in when the dead pile up. Rites for the gods. Mending for the bleeding. A dagger for the dying. That’s what I do,” he explained. “I don’t pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt.” Lavellan snorted, gladdened that this man was not a enemy at least. For he would have made a formidable one.

“The other avvar kidnapped an Inquisition patrol. Are they alright?” Solas asked.

“A few were injured in the skirmish, but they were alive. Last I saw them.” He grinned then. A fierce, proud thing that she had often seen on Bull’s face when he came across a particularly challenging foe. “Someone’s trained them well. They killed more of us than I thought they would.”  “I imagine we can thank Command Cullen for that,” the elven man supplied. 

“A fine Commander this Cullen must be then,” The avvar rumbled brightly. 

“Indeed he is…” Lani trailed off, attentions having turned to the flickering tear over their heads. 

She would not be able to seal it properly without first opening it. Something she was loath to do, but was ultimately necessary. It seemed more formidable demons than most tended to lurk around fissures like this. Fortunately, with the addition of their avvar friend, they had three mages and two warriors with which to fight whatever fell out. 

“You guys ready for this?” the Herald asked.

The Iron Bull and the Avvar warrior let out battle roars that shook the very ground and send Lavellan’s heart pounding. Ever present Solas stepped up beside her, gave her a quick nod and smile, then turned his gaze upon the rift, brows furrowing in determination and concentration. 

“Kaffas…” Dorian sighed, taking up position on the elven woman’s opposite side. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She snorted and thrust her marked hand toward the tear. It burst open and demons tumbled forth. 

The Iron Bull roared again and charged, horns low, axe high. He threw two wraiths across the swamps by hooking them on his horns and twisting violently. It was an effective trick. One he not doubt picked up from an actual bull. If the wraiths didn’t succumb to the impact, they would be heavily wounded and it would take them several minutes to slither their way back into the fray. The great qunari followed the head butt with a downward sweep of his axe that sent the intended shade straight back to the Fade without it ever having the chance to attack. 

The Avvar man was just as brutal. The war hammer ringing and thudding against the thick scaled hide of the fear demons he pursued. There was the sickening crack of bone and exo-armor shattering and one of the demons fell to its knees with a shriek of agony. The heavy weapon swung high through the air and came down hard on the creature’s skull, smashing it like a melon and send chunks and ichor flying in all directions. 

Lavellan let out a disgusted moan as the noxious stuff splattered her robes. She had little time for else though as a pack of wraiths closed in on her and her fellow mages, surrounding them. With a snarl she forced her will out in a circular pattern. The wave of magic was accompanied by a sonic boom and the wraiths were thrown back several paces or staggered. To one side of her, fire raced out consuming their foes. To the other, ice. 

The rift pulsed and thrummed and spewed forth another wave of loathsome creatures. Solas let out a low angry growl, whirling his staff over his head then sending it slamming to the ground. A shock wave of power rolled out from him along the ground and then rose abruptly upward. All around them the temperature dropped, then a furious wind kicked up. But while it stirred the robes of the mages, the furs of the avvar, and The Iron Bull’s bellowing pant legs it seemed to have a much greater effect upon the demons. They slowed in their advances, frost racing across their hides in swirling patterns as they leaned into the wind. Ice formed around limbs, encasing and paralyzing. Two or three froze solid only to be shattered by an axe wielding Qunari or maul wielding Avvar. 

“Ha ha!” Dorian roared in triumph, marveling at the temporary storm even as balls of flame shot out from him. 

Even Lavellan found herself smiling. For a moment, it felt as though she were in a snow globe. Though, she was deeply thankful the spell had not been targeted at her. She likely would have found in much less enjoyable in that case. Lighting raced out from her in a sweeping arch and she marveled at how the light played off the whirling flakes. Beautiful and deadly. 

By the time Solas’s spell began to dissipate, there were no demons left standing. The Herald closed the rift as she’d closed seemingly hundreds before, then took a moment to catch and study one of the few snowflakes still hanging in the air before they all could melt. At first glance, the snow had appeared like any other, but under closer inspection she could see minuscule ripples of the Fade green light she had come to associate with the elven man’s power flickering and dancing across its frozen surface. She let out a little delighted laugh.

“ _That_ was amazing!” she said turning to him. Solas returned her smile with a bow. “Wherever did you come up with the idea?”

“You didn’t think I spent all that time standing on the ledge near my cabin simply because I enjoy Haven’s view, did you?” He smirked. 

“You were studying the wind patterns? Their ebb and flow?” He nodded. 

“The storms that passed through many weeks ago gave me the idea. If I could understand their power. Harness it or recreate it…”

“You’d have a blizzard in your pocket, so to speak,” Dorian said. “Fascinating. I wonder if that could be adapted and applied to other magical forms at well.”

“I have no doubts that it could,” the tall elf said. “And has in the past.” 

With the rift sealed the mages and their warrior moved off into the swamps leaving their avvar ally behind.

“Watch the water,” he called after them. And, to Lani’s way of thinking, that was pretty sound advice. 

 

The castle the Avvar had claimed was old and little more than ruins. None of the barbarian people guarded the causeway into the Keep, but then there was really no need to. The worn cobbled walkway was teaming with undead. The Avvar would be able to hear the sounds of battle and that would give them more than enough time to ready themselves.

“I really hate this place,” Lavellan moaned as the severed upper half of a withered corpse clawed at the hem of her robes, its entrails streaming out behind it like a morbid banner. She kicked it away, trying not to gag. 

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian gasped, staff spinning furiously in front of him. “There are too many.”

“We must make for the Keep or be overwhelmed,” Solas called.

“Go,” Bull said taking up position behind the mages. “I’ll cover you from behind.” He let out a muted snort at his own joke but his game face never faltered. Not needing to be told again, Lavellan broke into a run. Fire balls and electric arcs helped to clear a way. Dorian and Solas lending their skills to her’s in order to make their flight less encumbered. 

But as they neared the gates a pack of undead wandered right into their path. With a bellow of frustration, Lani sent a sphere of solid ice through their center, striking the first in the chest and using its body to stagger and part some of those behind. Dorian followed it up with an explosion in the heart of the unsteady ranks, blasting a hole large enough to the companions to leap through.

They bounded over the foul creatures and into the castle only to come face to face with an Avvar warrior and several archers. _Today just keeps getting better and better,_ the harried elf thought darkly. She really would have a thing or two to say to the advisors upon her return. They weren’t going to be nice things either. 

Bull ran past the mages, tackling the warrior. It gave the elves the chance to race up the stairs toward the gate chains and the archers that blocked the path. Dorian remained below to assist the qunari. Ice lanced from both elves’ staffs, knocking the archers back and down. One tumbled off the parapet completely, landing on the broken rumble below with the unmistakeable crack of bone. The avvar woman did not rise. Her shattered bow at her side. 

The other archer roared, charging them while drawing a knife from a sheath on his back. Lani saw the attack coming and readied herself. Solas threw a barrier over them and expected the woman beside him to ready a spell. She did not. Instead the Herald took several long steps forward and met the oncoming Avvar. The archer lunged and in a motion too subtle and quick for the average eye to see, the dalish elf pivoted her weight, grabbed the knife trusting wrist, pulled the avvar close, then threw him bodily over her shoulder, her staff assisting in the motion. She hadn’t quite had the height or speed to throw him over or through the rail, so the man came down hard on his back, cracking the rotting boards beneath. Lani spun away, the motion carrying her out of the man’s reach and a pace behind Solas, opening the area for the her fellow mage’s magical attack. Solas obliged. The rising avvar turned to crystalline ice before shattering completely with a tap of the fade-walker’s staff. 

The elven man followed Lani as she ran up the remaining steps to the high wall of the keep. There they found the mechanism to close the gate below, cutting off the endless hordes of undead from their companions. 

Solas turned to Lavellan as they stood panting and leaning against the cool stone. 

“It would seem you too have been doing some studying of late,” he said sagely, an intrigued smile upon his lips.

“Huh?” she breathed looking over at him. “Oh. Yeah. I can’t remember if Cassandra or Leliana taught me that one. Leliana, I think. Seems more her style.” She looked over her shoulder at the slowly melting chucks on the walkway. “Anyway, I was running out of juice. Didn’t have time for a potion so I figured I’d give it a go. Worked well enough.” 

“Indeed,” Solas agreed. “Though that is not all I meant.” Lani’s stared at him for a moment perplexed and then a realization dawned and her face fell. 

“You mean the ice.” 

“I’ve never seen you use frost magic before,” he nodded, smiling mostly with his eyes. “I certainly don’t recall teaching you. But your display was… impressive.” She shrugged, trying to hide the dark emotions that swirl just beneath the surface, to cover them with something lighter and cockier. 

“I’m a quick study,” she said smoothly. “Picked it up watching you cast in battle. The magical theory isn’t so different from fire. The same just backwards, now that I think about it…”

“Now that you think about it? As in you hadn’t before?” Solas asked his eyes narrowing, head titling. Something about the Herald felt _off_. Like she was hiding something. It didn’t surprise him overmuch that she had figured out the basics on her own. She was clearly a gifted mage. And it wasn’t that what she said was wrong. Her assessment was quite right in fact. It was that it had only occurred to her _now._ She was usually so eloquent and thoughtful in her discussions and studies of magic. It was one of the many things that attracted him to her- that they had bonded over. He would have thought that simple comparison would have been the _first step_ in her understanding and learning of ice magic, not an idle passing thought sometime afterwards. 

“I…” she began, searching for the right words. But she was saved as Bull and Dorian joined them on the wall.  
“That was bracing,” Dorian sighed expressively. 

“Nothing like a good fray to get the blood pumping,” Bull agreed. 

They traded jokes and barbs while raiding what supplies they could find. The Iron Bull uncovering a Warden artifact Blackwall would no doubt be eager to see. Lani tired to maintain her previous disposition and did so with marginal success. That was to say, neither Dorian or Bull seemed to notice. Or at least they said nothing of it. Behind her, however, Solas pondered her words and reactions in uneasy silence. Seeking an answer to the riddle he felt was hidden just below the surface. _Perhaps I am ascribing more depth to the situation than it requires,_ the tall elf thought. _Perhaps it was just a fluke of wording and Lavellan has simply done as she described. Studied my technique and applied what she learned from it. Nothing more._ He paused then shook his head. _No. I’d like to think I know her better than that._

The truth was Lavellan hadn’t studied frost magic. At least, not as she had fire or lighting or healing magic. She had been watching Solas, that much was true. Learning the feel of his power as he cast, aware of how he manipulated it. Drawing it in. Forcing it out. She had intended to ask him to teach her when they had time, but nevertheless she had never cast ice until… until she’d seen him die. It had come to her then, as the wolf had all those years ago. The power called unconsciously and suddenly at her bidding. She had wanted to hurt those in the dark future. Hurt them with the power of one they had stolen from her. One she… _No._ Lani shook herself as if dispelling a chill. Her feelings for him did not matter and now as not the time to dwell on them in any case. 

 

“The Herald of Andraste! Face me! I am the hand of Korth, himself!” the large Avvar man sneered from where a throne may have once stood back before the castle was a crumbling wreck. He was big, not so massive as the friendlier member of his clan they had met earlier, but still quite formidable. With a wordless cry the man charged accompanied by two other clansmen, splashing through the puddles that had formed on the floor of the roofless room.

“Oh Creators,” Lani breathed.

She readied herself, pulling power around her, building it exponentially as the man grew closer. She felt the tingle across her skin as Solas sheathed her in a protective barrier. When the chieftain’s son was a few paces away she released her spell with a slow breath. A torrent of fire erupted at the man’s feet, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to rail against its searing heat. Any hope that had flared in Lavellan was squashed as the Avvar steadied and let out a bellowing roar of challenge. 

“He accumulates guard?” the elven woman exclaimed in fearful shock. 

“So it would seem,” Solas said. The edge in his voice indicated this development unnerved him as well. Guard was the warrior’s equivalent of a shield. Their battle rage shrouding them in a protect aura. It was part of the reason Cassandra Pentaghast could be nigh unstoppable on a field of combat.

“That’s… That’s…”

“Totally unfair and completely unbecoming in a fight you’re expected to win,” Dorian snarled helpfully as he slung flame at one of the other avvar warriors. 

“Yes!” 

Lavellan was forced to dive behind a pillar in order to dodge the great man’s hammer. Stone exploded over her head and showered down, plinking off her armor. _Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit._ Thinking quickly she rolled from her hiding place and hurled lighting at the her attacker. It had rather more of an effect than she had anticipated. Arcing and hissing along the heavy furs he wore. Curls of smoke rose in several places. It slowed his advance just enough to allow her to scramble to a better position. 

She sprinted across a small pool and was struck with an idea. Lani turned in time to see the avvar warrior angling in on her. Situating herself so that he’d run through the pool as well, she waited. As soon as both feet hit the water, Lani sent electric energy surging forth. Light danced of the ruined walls in a flickering symphony of color. From somewhere else one of the other foes let out a warbling cry of pain. They too must have been standing in the pool.

“Good one, Boss,” The Iron Bull roared in approval from the same direction. 

The Herald didn’t have time to reply as her spell faded and the man before her started moving once more with murderous intent. If she could just keep him at bay and worry his defenses long enough for the others to eliminate his allies it could be enough to take him out. That assumed, of course, she could stay a step ahead of him… or several. His reach was much longer than hers, his stride taking him further, his strength greater. But she was quicker- hopefully- and more nimble. 

The Dalish First thought of all the dances the People use to tell their tales. She thought of the battles played out in rhythmic steps. Lavellan eyed her surroundings and grinned. _Battles just like this._ It was just another dance around the fire. Him her partner. 

With a fierce triumphant laugh she took off. Whirling and spinning from shadow to cover in smooth strides. Her staff lashed out with sparks and bolts of power, chipping away at the the avvar’s defenses. Once more she moved in the steps of the Wolf, a role she so often played in stories around the fire, a role she had made her own over years of practice, a role that awakened something primal and fearless within her. She _was_ the wolf. And she was to be _dreaded._

Solas looked over at the sound of the Herald’s laugh and saw the sudden change in her posture. No longer were her movements frantic and jerky. Fearfully scampering to avoid a forbidding foe. She leapt and pivoted as though to music and not the ringing of weapons and cracking of magic. A taunting grin brightened her face as she stared down the much much larger Avvar. 

“What in Maker’s name does she think she’s doing?” Dorian breathed, glancing at her briefly before returning his attentions to the enemy before him. “Is she _trying_ to get herself killed?”

“Quite the opposite I expect,” Solas said, staff spinning as he called another ice storm to bare. She’s dancing, he thought with bemusement that soon turned to respect. Turning the battle to her own terms! Playing on her strengths and his weaknesses! Solas found himself grinning fiercely, a surge of pride lending his attacks greater strength.

Lavellan’s complete change in tactic had thrown her opponent through a loop and it took him several heartbeats to change tact as well, though he didn’t do so near as well as she had. As such, she had gotten two good spells in before the Avvar’s guard could build up once more, wounding him deeply and slowing him. She darted in close, nicking him with the slender dagger she wore, then darted away before he could retaliate. The rhythm to one of her favored tales played across her thoughts. A snarling laugh ever just below the surface. The cuts were meant to infuriate not wound and they served their purpose well. Like a sparrow worrying the wings of an eagle. The angrier the Avvar became, the sloppier his attacks grew. Soon he was little more than a seething beast. Dangerous for sure, but easily out maneuvered. 

It took no more than a few breaths for the three to finish off the first then second of the three avvar, leaving only the chieftain’s son. Enraged as he was, he was focused exclusively on Lavellan and didn’t notice her companions encircling him. It helped matters that she had made a pretty little target of herself standing halfway the steps to the dais. The dalish elf crouched, hand resting loosely on the staff planted in front and too one side, humming to herself all the while, which only seemed to goad him on.

“Now you die, Herald,” the Avvar growled, spittle flying in all directions as he advanced. "And we see who's god is greater!" A slow smile twisted her rose hued lips.

“Now? Are you sure?” She asked, stilling her melody, head titling comically to one side in an almost dog-like fashion. Long fingers stroked her chin for a moment as if considering the idea. Then flat eyes met his. “No. I don’t really think so.” 

At that, Dorian unleashed a jet of flame, setting the man alight from behind. Solas stepped from a shadow and with a hissing crackle the Avvar turned to silver-white ice. Bull let out a roar and slammed his broad axe down in a stone shattering blow than send great chunks of man flying in all directions. 

Lani rose slowly and straightened, a quiet chuckle shaking her slender shoulders. 

“Well fought,” Bull rumbled. “With skills and quick thinking like that, perhaps we should be glad Red hasn’t whisked you off to train as a bard.”

“I asked,” Lavellan shrugged lightly, sliding her staff through the loops across her back as she walked down the broken steps to join the men. “But she’s rather a bit busy at the moment.” She gestured vaguely skyward with her marked hand. Solas laughed. Bright clear notes that bounced from the walls. The Herald found herself smiling broadly.

“Thank the Maker for small blessings,” Dorian breathed. 

“I don’t think he quite knew what to make of you, Herald,” Solas said stilling a little though continuing to grin. “Clever.” 

“I doubt the idea of being danced to death ever occurred to the poor man,” Dorian mused. “It doesn’t to most people outside the imperial courts.”  

“Perhaps it should,” the elven woman said, an eyebrow quirking. “Battle is but a dance between opponents after all. is it not?” Her tone mimicked Solas’s when he was in one of his dreamier moods, right down to the subtle tilting of the chin and head. Mimicked but not mocked. She flashed the tall elf a quick rueful smile and his eyes narrowed playfully at her. He’d admit the impersonation was not far its mark. Bull snorted but shrugged in acknowledgment. 

“A bit too poetic, but true.”

The great qunari peered at the elven woman down the length of his nose. Sizing her up anew. Then he nodded slowly in approval, a rumbling laugh bubbling deep in his chest as well. 

 

The Inquisition’s men and women were locked away in a spacious closet off to one side of the throne room.

“Herald of Andraste!” One of the scouts gasped, slamming a fist to her chest in salute as the elven woman unlocked and opened the door. They had been provided water at least and some stale bread. Even so the rescuers dug in their packs for spread food and potions. 

“We’ve dealt with the Avvar,” Lani said to the scout as she handed over a few bottles of health potion. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes, Your Worship,” the woman said taking the potions to the wounded scouts and those tending to them. “The injured need some rest, but we can return on our own.”

“Good,” the elf nodded. “We’ve established a second camp not far from here if it will be easier to tend the men there. Take your time and stay out of the water. We cleared much of the way, but there is no telling how many more undead may be lurking down there.”  
“Understood, Your Worship.” 

“I can’t believe the Herald came for us!” Lani heard one of the wounded whisper as she and her companions turned to leave. 

“I told you she would come,” another soothed. 

And she would always come. If she could find a way, she would be there for those who fought under the same banner as she did. Just as she hope they would for her.

 

“Your god looks after you, Herald,” the big Avvar man they’d encountered before beamed as he met her upon the castle’s steps. He looked past her at the prone forms of his clansmen in the throne room. “There lies the brat,” he spat. “His father, the Chief of our Holding, would duel me for the loss if he cared enough.” 

“The Inquisition has a purpose your Chief lacks,” Lavellan said smoothly. “Join me,” she smiled. “Help us stop the Breach.” The avvar man looked at her for a moment, then starred upward at the torn sky, brow lined with thought.

“Is this why the Lady in the Sky sent me here?” he asked to no one in particular. “To help heal the wounds in her skin?” He seemed to make up his mind and nodded firmly. “Alright. I’ll join you,” he said to the tattooed elf before him. “Let me make peace with my kin and I’ll find where you set your flag.”

 

“I hope it doesn’t bother you to travel alongside a ‘Vint,’ Iron Bull,” Dorian said as they worked their way out of the marshes

“That what you are?” Bull rumbled in mock surprise. “You people all kinda look the same to me.”

“I’m also a mage,” Dorian added darkly, shaking off a boot that had slipped into a particularly muddy patch of earth. “Would you prefer me bound and leashed?”

“I’d buy you dinner first,” Bull rumbled with a teasing smile, giving the man an appraising look. One that Dorian missed in his annoyed shoe scrapping. 

“Hopefully, before you sewed my mouth shut,” the mage scoffed. The Iron Bull made a somewhat frustrated groaning sound. 

“Depends how much you keep yapping,” he muttered. Lani tried not to giggle. Really she did. 

Somewhere to her left she heard a angry hissing noise. Solas stopped cold, peering in the direction it had come. They shared a look and immediately drew out their staffs.

“What the…?” Bull’s hand clamped over Dorian’s mouth, the big man also searching the murk for trouble.

There was a loud crackling boom and a rift exploded with enough force to knock leaves from the trees and send air rushing out from it a powerful gust. The agents of the Inquisition could make out its eery glow through an opening in natural rocky outcropping.

Dorian stilled and the qunari released him. Both went for their weapons.

Lavellan moved cautiously forward, but the instant she passed through the stony portal, _something_ seized her and all but flung her toward the center of the giant circular clearing. Whatever had grabbed her held her ribcage in an iron grip. The sensation forcing the air from her lungs in a wordless scream. Behind her she heard her companions letting out shouts of surprise, fear, outrage. 

The elven woman landed hard on her stomach at the base of what appeared to be a sculpture or monument of some sort directly under the rift. Gasping breaths shook her as she was once more able to breath. Something shrieked in fury and challenge and Lavellan’s instincts took over. She rolled and leap to the side just as a massive claymore cleaved a deep furrow in the earth where she had been. Turning, she found a great hulking figure gliding toward her. Red glowing eyes gleamed from inside a shadowed helm. Its armor was thick, heavy, and patinated with age. The great sword it carried near as long as the elf was tall. _Oh Creators! A revenant,_ she thought in fear. A second shriek cut the air and from the other side of the monument a despair demon glided forth. 

Lani’s heart sank. 

The others were too far away. Their advance hampered by shades and wraiths. None particularly powerful, at least as compared to a revenant, but they were formidable all the same. She was on her own. 

 

Solas watched in desperate horror as the Herald was dragged from his side. A strangled cry ripping its way from his throat. Accompanied those of Bull and Dorian. She landed hard. That much he could see. But it was want had pulled her that made his blood run cold. He broke into a run. The others hot on his heels. Ahead, Lavellan dodged the revenant’s claymore but only just. A despair demon bobbed from its hiding place and shrieked. 

At that moment, lesser demons welled up around the men, encircling them. They were cut off from the Herald. They would prevail, yes, but he did not know how long it would take and she was alone against the two most powerful demons present. The elven man growled in frustration. 

“Move, Lavellan!” He shouted at her. “Run!”

 

The Herald heard Solas shout. Jarring her senses. She did as he bid. Shrouding herself in a barrier as she scrambled to her feet. The Revenant pursued her with slow, methodical grace. She leapt over an icy jet the despair demon conjured. Her boots, hem of her robes, and leggings frosting over as she did so. Her barrier popped like a child’s balloon and she stumbled. 

Never slowing, she whirled, sending a both of fire at the demon’s face. Its shrill cry of agony and rage echoing through the clearing. It spun through the air, writhing, then righted itself for a new attack. Lavellan was forced to change course to avoid the deadly spell, sending her darting right into the revenant’s path. Once more it seized her its magical grip, throwing her violently to the ground at its feet. Its raised claymore ready for the death strike. 

Bull’s bellow came from somewhere nearby and the mountain of muscle and horns hit the demon possessed body like a stampeding druffalo. 

“Get up. Get up. Get up,” Dorian said as he hooked his arms under the elven woman’s and hauled her to her feet. He thrust a potion into her hands and shoved her behind him and Solas for protection. She downed the red liquid in a long gulp and gasped as its power restored at least some of her strength. 

“About time you showed up,” she breathed taking up position. 

“You did abandon us rather rudely,” Dorian said smoothly eyes never leaving the battle. “And fashionably late is better than never arriving at all. Though this was one party I think we could have skipped, don’t you agreed?” 

“I’m not a fan of the guests, if that’s what you mean,” Lavellan said through bared teeth as bolts of lighting flashed from her staff. The rift pulsed and flexed and more shades, a fear demon, and a second despair demon fell forth. “Oh for… really?” 

Solas snarled in battle born rage as the despair demons angled in on the mages. 

“Fire,” he roared. And that was all the prompting Lani and Dorian needed. Both icy creatures lit in flickering shades of crimson, amber, and amethyst. The beasts wailed and clawed at their flesh, bodies dissolving as they were drawn back into the Fade. 

Their victory was short lived as the fear demon Bull had gone after turned its sights on the mages. It ripped a hole in the fabric of the earth and erupted at their feet, flinging all three hard to the ground. At that moment, the Revenant wrapped the elven woman and the tevinter mage in a crushing grip. They flew threw the air, Dorian slamming hard into the monument at the center of the clearing a spinning helplessly away. Lani stuck one of the carved stone mabari at the column’s base with such force that it broke the head of the beast clean off. She landed on her back in the rain soften earth, staring up at the clouded sky gasping for breath. 

She looked to see the damnable demon closing on her and the prone still form of Dorian a few paces away. The elf’s staff had been knocked loose from her grip and she had no idea where it lay in relation to herself. Not that it mattered. Her mana was utterly drained and she would not be able to move in time to effect any of the fighting techniques she had been mastering. It’s not as though the revenant had legs she could swipe out from under it. 

The claymore came whistling in her direction, her eyes widening. Lani rolled, managing to take a glancing blow across her ribs from the blunt side of the weapon rather that a direct blow to the chest from its edge. Still the impact sent her spinning across the soil. She raised a hand in a feeble attempt to call defensive power forth as the beast readied a final strike. 

Shining white ice wreathed in faint emerald flame cut a clean hole through the revenant’s torso. It fell, body and demon within drawn back into the Fade. Lani redirected her efforts at the rift, sealing it, than let her head fall back against the soggy soil beneath her, eyes closing. The rain felt cool and wonderful on her heated skin. 

“Holy Mother of Ouch!” The elven woman wheezed under her breath, forehead creasing in pain. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard _that_ one from you before, Lethallan,” Solas smirked leaning down to offer her a hand and helping her sit up. She did love it when he call her that. 

He held two potions in his palm. One each for the both of them. The tall apostate sat beside her and passed her one, downing the other himself. As she watched a cut along his jaw sealed, bruising that had begun to spread up the side of his neck, no doubt starting at his shoulder, receded slowly. He rolled the joint a few times and while he grimaced, he looked satisfied.

“You haven’t seen me get plowed over by a Revenant before either,” Lani managed in a croaking breath before taking a swig of the potion. “First time for everything.” Once she had downed the last, he rose and helped her to her feet. Concern flashed across Solas’s features as he studied her unsteady and heavily breathing form.

“Are you alright, Lavellan?” 

“A few broken ribs, maybe a bruised kidney…,” she groaned hands braced on her thighs.

“The every picture of health and wellness,” Dorian panted from where he’d dragged himself, his back against the ‘Den’ monument, legs splayed out in front of him loosely. Blood ran down the side of his face from a gash near his hairline and another across his cheek. 

“What he said…”

“Oh good lord, I hope we leave this hellish place soon,” the tevinter mage whined before he too downed a bottle of healing potion.

“I outmaneuvered a freaking Avvar chief’s son and several of his cronies and walked away with nothing but a bit of a headache and a few scratches. But then a freaking revenant comes along and lays me out. Thrice!” the dalish elf growled in exasperation, one hand moving in an agitated gesture. “That’s it! This is horse crap. I’m done. I’m going home. Screw this bog. I’m out.” She took a few steps and faltered, gasping, a hand pressed to her side. “In a minute… I’m _out_ … in a minute.” 

“Perhaps it would be wise to rest a while,” Solas said steadying her. “Get back to Fisher’s End camp and spend the night there before our return to Haven.”

“There you go, Solas,” she said with a pained smile. “Doing that _thinking_ thing again. Good on ya. One of us needs too.” She groan again, eyes closing against the discomfort. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” He snorted, picked up her staff from where it had landed in a growth of shrubs, fitted it through the extra loop beside his own, and put an arm under her shoulder to help her hobble from the clearing. Behind them, a bruised Bull helped a bloodied Dorian. The two of them couldn’t seem to make up their minds whether this was a good thing or a bad one.

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian swore. “Don’t you ever bathe?”

“Sometimes,” Bull shrugged with a low rumble of a laugh. “You want to watch, don’t you?”

“I’d rather stand upwind,” the mage croaked. 

“Human sweat smells like pork that’s been sitting in the sun,” the qunari countered. “Just saying.”

“He has a point, Dorian,” Lani called over her shoulder. “You’re no summer rose at the moment.” 

“I would have said nug,” Solas mused, lips twitching upward at the corners as the rain slowly rinsed the blood and ichor from his face. “Though I suppose pig is close enough.” The three of them chuckled. The forth glowered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan- kin/cousin/clansmen/familiar person


	44. The Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That part where everything is happy for about two seconds before the world goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I didn't actually intend this chapter to stand alone. It's just kind of filler in the game and it feels kinda like filler now, no matter how I try to revise it. I meant to attach it to the next chapter, but that is taking me longer to finish than I thought and it is already pretty beefy so this gets posted by itself. We're getting so close to not only big game reveals, but also reveals for Lani Lavellan personally and I'm really excited to share those with you in the near future. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support. This project turned out to be a lot bigger than I thought it would be at first and I'm glad to share it with you.

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald,” Cullen said as the leaders of the Inquisition gathered around the war table one final time before their march on the temple. “Be certain you are prepared for the assault of the Breach. We cannot know how you will be affected.”

“Understood, Commander,” Lavellan said, her face set in grim resolve. “I am ready.”

 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was just a unsettlingly as the last time the Herald had set foot in, though the fires had long ago been extinguished and the dead given respectful funerals. Still a stifling heaviness seemed to have soaked into the very ground itself. That deep melancholy that permeated the sights of tragic events. Lani wondered off hand if spirits would forever be drawn to this place as they were to the battlefields as Solas described. If they’d retell this tale in spectral form for ages unending. She hoped they would. Even if these events faded from history in ages to come, it was a comfort to know someone would remember them. Remember what was lost and what was begun. On her first visit to the Breach, she had merely been a prisoner and suspect in the Divine’s death. Now? Now she was the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ Many things had changed. Many more still would. 

Plumes of ash and dust rose around her feet and ankles as she approach the swirling shimmers of emerald light that brushed the ruined ground and stretched high above her toward the Breach. She stared in pensive awe at the sight. Even knowing what she would find here, the elven woman was rendered speechless. Behind her, Cullen marshaled the allied mages into neat rows along the higher levels of the ruined temple, forming them into a half circle around recess in which the Herald stood. He called down to those below when all was ready, Cassandra calling back in acknowledgment. 

Lavellan was afraid, yes. But not as she had been the first time. Now her fear was not in her own death or pain or even in the unknown, but rather in failing. Of being unable to close the Breach for a second time. Of having all these long months of work and toil and death be for nothing. Her jaw tightened, brows lowering as a snarl of determination bubbled in her chest. _This is no different than any other rift,_ she told herself. _And this time, I am not alone._

To her left, Dorian stood marveling at the power before them. Just as intrigued as he was horrified as he was prepared. He looked to the elven woman and nodded. To her right, Cassandra stood stoically. The warrior’s quiet strength a comfort. Next to the Seeker, Solas. The fade-walker and Seeker locked eyes with Herald, asking a simple unspoken question: _are you ready?_ Her eyes narrowed, shadowed with purpose and certainly, her hand flexing in agitation. She nodded once. Cassandra gave her a small encouraging smile. Solas dipped his head. As one, he and Cassandra turned to address the mages behind them.

“Mages!” Cassandra bellowed, drawing her sword.

“Focus past the Herald,” Solas instructed his voice ringing with calm, firm authority. He lifted his staff high over his head as he spoke, using it to draw attention to himself then direct it toward the light of the rift before them. “Let her will draw from you!”

Behind her, Lavellan heard the echoing thud of hundreds of staffs striking the ground in unison. Immediately the air was filled with smell of ozone. The hairs along her arms and neck rising as all the mages called forth their wills. The magic was near tangible, like standing in a rushing stream. It washed over Lani in waves and she felt her fear vanish in the wake of its power. 

With a deep steadying breath, the dalish First lifted her hand toward the rift that fed the Breach, called to the magic around her, and sent it coursing through the flickering mark. Warmth flooded her, starting at her palm and flowing up to her shoulder, across her back, and down her spine. The sensation seemed to make her skin and muscles writhe as though thousands of tiny serpents made of flame slithered under her flesh. It was uncomfortable. Painfully even. As the fight between her will and the colossal rift swelled the feeling grew more intense. Her teeth baring in response. 

In those moments it seemed as though the whole of the world was sharper, crispier, more defined that she could have had imagined. As though she could not only feel but see individual currents of air- where they began, where they would finish. Aware of every particle of dust or moister in the air. Could perceive the magic itself as it moved through the space in liquid currents of blinding white light. Able to feel the blood in her veins, the valves of her heart as they opened and shut in rapid succession. Not only hers, but also all those around her. 

High above the Breach roared like an enraged beast. Whether Lavellan made a sound of her own or not, she could never say. Then, with a deafening boom, the rift exploded. Destruction raced up the magical connection to the tear in the heavens, which moaned and cracked like thunder before dispelling with so much force it threw all those gathered in the temple below several paces through the air before slamming them to the ground with violent force. Disturbed ash hung like fog, obscuring much of the area. 

Cassandra righted herself first, racing forward to where she had last seen the Herald. Her movements frantic, panicked, shoving soldiers and scouts from her path. Her only thoughts on what had become of her friend. 

Several strides away, Solas was hit with the same concern. The dalish woman had absorbed and channeled an incredible amount of magic. Some few mortals had ever tried and survived. The affects of that alone were unknowable. And the last time she had attempted to close the Breach it had nearly killed her. Rising to his feet, he ran unsteadily over the uneven ground, squinting through the haze.

Crouched in the whirling dust, unmoved from the her original position, was Lavellan. She clutched at her wrist, the mark glowing so brightly it may as well have been a signal fire. Her arm was all but numb, though that bothered her little. Adrenaline making up for any discomfort. Grimacing she rose slowly, Cassandra’s hand coming to rest on her shoulder. The Seeker face flashed first to shock, then to awe, then finally to a radiant smile. 

“You did it,” the warrior beamed. 

Lavellan turned to find Dorian and Solas behind her, also grinning. Above, Cullen was leaning on the rail trying to see, his face a mask of concern. It soften when he saw her. Shoulders relaxing. Behind him, the people of the Inquisition looked on in stunned silence. Then, with little warning, cheers and cries of joy and triumph went up all around them. Cassandra clapped, her surprised laugh bright and beautiful and more girlish than one would think. Dorian whooped, slapping Lani on the back in a congratulatory fashion. Bull roared, punching the air with broad fists. Varric added his shrill whistle to that of Krem’s and to the ever-rising din of celebration. The Herald found her own lips parting, a smile spreading as their joy infected her. 

Brilliant blue eyes found her’s as the air cleared. The fiery heat of them setting the dalish woman’s stomach rolling and turning for entirely new reasons. Pride shone from his features. Fierce pride. In her. It simply radiated from him. Her smile grew. His broadened. Their shoulders shaking in time with mirth as they gazed upon the sealed sky. 

Lavellan couldn’t recall a time she had ever felt this light in the whole of her life. She may well have been in danger of simply lifting from the ground and floating away.


	45. Enemy At The Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part where things go to hell in hurry. Some bonds are strengthen. Others reforged entirely- for better and worse. The Elder One reveals himself at long last and the Herald must decided whether to give up or fight... She never was one who favored surrender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -wipes sweat from brow- That took forever to write and I could probably go back and edited it more, but after two weeks of futzing with this chapter and the want to 'just get on with it already' I'm declaring it done... ish... yeah... 
> 
> This is my longest chapter to date, I believe. And while I have the next several chapters mostly worked out, I had a few more ideas and so will probably tinker on them until something middle/end of next week. That and I need a bit of a break. 
> 
> As always, thank you so very very much for taking time out of your lives to read my ramblings. It means a great deal to me.

Haven was filled with the sounds of laughter and music. One of the old shop-keeps had brought out a fiddle and was playing a merry tune while an ex-templar and an elven mage hooked arms and danced in the firelight of the main square of Haven, soon to be joined by other such pairings. Mages and soldiers and villagers alike traded ale and stories and humor with one another in the afterglow of their victory. The Herald stood on the raised ledge nearby and looked on with a warm smile upon her lips. Her toe tapping a light rhythm to the music’s beat.

_Perhaps this what the world could be like one day,_ Lavellan mused. _People just being people, accepting others as people, and living as people. All exactly as they are. Living without fear among one another._ It was a pleasant thought to say the least. She sighed, her gaze lifting to the green slash that was left across the heavens. _It is done._ She had once thought she would go home after the Breach was sealed. Back to her clan. Back to the Marches. But now she wasn’t entirely sure. Lani had stayed to help guarantee the safety of Thedas and in so doing her people. She couldn’t help but think they weren’t in the clear just yet. Not with this ‘Elder One’ and a million riddles left without answers. 

Shaking herself, the elf straightened. Darker musing could be left for another time. Now was the time for celebration. Perhaps she could finally catch a few moments alone with the handsome fade-walker. See if he’d care to share a drink with her. _I wonder if he likes to dance,_ she thought idly. Lani was just about to go find out when Seeker Cassandra strolled up beside her, hands clasped loosely behind her back. 

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed,” the Seeker said starring up at the sky over the mountains. “We have reports of lingering rifts. And many questions remain. But this was a victory.” She turned to the Herald. “Word of your heroism has spread.”

“You know how many were involved,” Lani replied with an ever to slightly chiding smile. “Luck put me at the center.”

“A strange kind of luck. I’m not sure if we need more or less,” Cassandra mused. “But you’re right,” she conceded. “This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Strange days. And more to come.”

“And to think I fell into this,” the Herald sighed, a light chuckle curling the words. “Almost literally.”

“Perhaps you’re too close to judge,” the Seeker shrugged, giving her a faint glimmer of a knowing smile. “We needed you. We still do.” Lavellan’s eyebrow quirked in question. “We have yet to discover how the Breach came to be,” the Seeker explained. “And that is only the most conspicuous of our troubles.”

“True enough,” the elf snorted. “I’ll tell you one thing, Seeker, this ‘Elder One’ gives me the chills. I can’t help but feel we’re only getting started.”

“I fear you may be right,” Cassandra breathed as the two of them stood watching the celebrations of the people. For some reason, Lavellan no longer felt the urge to join them. In fact, somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was screaming at her to run. 

 

Bells. Shrill bells of warning cut through the music laden air. For a moment, all went silent except for their ringing. Music, laughter, and singing dying suddenly and eerily. Cassandra and the Herald looked out with widening eyes at the far off mountain pass. There thousands of tiny lights were cresting into view. Torches. Their light glinted of the sea of armored men who carried them as they moved steadily toward the little village.

“What the…?” Lani began, arms falling to her sides in shock from where they had been crossed over her chest in conversation with Cassandra.

“Forces approaching!” Cullen bellowed, charging out of the Chantry as its much larger bell began ringing. “To arms!” His call broken the fragile stillness. The camp flared to life in a flurry of shouts, clinging metal, and cries of alarm. People racing this way and that as they made for safety or to gather their arms and armor. 

The two women shared a long look, went for their weapons, and began to follow after the Commander. Solas and Dorian came racing up the path from their cabins, staffs already in hand. Dorian pulling on one sleeve of his robes as he ran.

“We must get to gates!” Cassandra shouted to them, voice strained with tension. The mages nodded wordlessly and fell into step. Snow flew up from their feet as they cut through the maelstrom of people. Varric intercepted them on the lower level of the village center. Bianca already loaded and locked in his grasp. 

“I knew it was too easy,” he said shaking his head. 

“This certainly bodes poorly,” a grim Solas agreed.

“Really? Bodes poorly? Have you seen all those torches? I dare say ‘bodes poorly’ is rather an understatement,” Dorian snarked darkly. “And here I thought things were finally calming down for once. Never a dull moment for southerns is there?” 

All around them, soldiers were marshaling order, preparing themselves and the village for a siege as best they could. The residents of Haven hurried about rounding up their loved ones and grabbing what was of value lest they be forced to flee on little notice. 

“We’re under attack?” man asked he companion in shock, his drunken stupor fading almost immediately upon sighting the Herald and her armored cohort. “But from who?” _That is the million sovereign question,_ Lani thought, but she was fairly certain she already knew. Solas had predicted this had he not? And sealing the Breach would have no doubt drawn even more attention.

“What threat could the ground hold?” Lavellan could hear Vivienne saying as they approached. “We’ve already conquered the sky.”

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked skidded to a halt by the locked front gates. The advisors, the rest of the Herald’s companions, and the Charges stood gathered and at the ready.

“One watch guard reporting,” the Commander breathed turning from the Enchanter to address the Seeker. “It’s a massive force. The bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” asked a terrified Ambassador Montilyet.

“None,” Cullen said simply, shaking his head. 

“None?” Josephine’s eyes widened in shock.

At that moment, the heavy wooden gates rattled and shook as someone banged upon them from the outside. The huddled group turned to stare. Their faces in expressions ranging from shock, to fear, to suspicion. The doors rattled again. More desperately. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” called the voice of a frantic young man. Cullen rushed forward, fearing he had stranded some of their people. But outside he found not a gathering of villagers seeking safety, but a circle of heavily armored soldiers. All dead, save one. 

The man, or woman Lani supposed, was huge, with armor thicker and heavier than any of the Inquisition’s soldiers wore. It stared at the opened gate for a moment. Then the hulking form let out a low laugh and began stalking toward them, claymore raising with each step. Cullen snarled, drawing his own blade and readied himself to rush forward in their defense. However, just as the Commander was about to charge, the impressive warrior before them stopped in its tracked, twitched violently, and fell. At its back stood a thin, almost frail form. Two long, wicked pointed daggers in his shaking hands. Blood dripped rhythmically from the blades’ sharp tips.

For a instant, no one moved. No one spoke. They simple stared at one another. 

“I’m Cole,” the rogue said finally and Lavellan instantly realized he had been the one to call through the gate. His voice as soft and trembled like one unsure of his words. Pale, near white, hair peeked out from under a ridiculously broad and floppy hat. The wide brim cast deep shadows over the man’s face, all but obscuring it. Still the elven woman could see the ice-like eyes beneath, wide with concern, darting this way and that before focusing on her with eery stillness. “I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you,” he said hurriedly. Then he stopped, seeming to second guess himself. “You probably already know that…” the stranger trailed off looking as though he felt foolish for saying something so obvious. 

“What is this,” Lani questioned approaching him cautiously as one might a spooked horse. She was unsure if he was friend or foe and there was definitely something odd about him, but her instincts wanted to trust him. The closer she got the harder it became to tell if the newcomer was truly a man or still little more than a boy. “What’s going on?”

“The templars come to kill you,” he said quietly, head titling so that he might look at her with one ghostly grey eye from beneath the edge of his hat. He didn’t retreat from her approach.

“Templars?” Cullen demanded in indignation and disgust taking an angry step forward, sword still in hand. The dagger wielding rogue hopped backward and flinched as though he feared Cullen might strike him. The commander noticed and while the heat and tone of his voice did not change as he turned away from the boy to face the dalish woman, his shoulders relaxed slightly as to be mildly less intimidating. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?” 

“I certainly hope not,” Lani said letting out a slow breath, head shaking in dismay. “If that’s the case, things just got _a lot_ more complicated.”

“The red templars went to the Elder One,” Cole said quickly. He took several quick steps toward the Herald. She tried not to start at their suddenness. “ _You_ know him? _He_ knows you. You took his mages.” His words flowed oddly- reminiscent of poetry or song. He turned abruptly, pointing out at a low peak in the middle distance. “There.” 

Upon the snow covered ledge stood two forms. One an oily haired man in odd templar styled armor that glowed faintly red. His skin was waxy and shone with sweat. His dark hair lank and stringy. The other… The other was something out of Lani’s nightmares. Easily twice the height if not more than the templar beside it, was the largest darkspawn the elf had heard of, let alone seen. Behind her, Varric made a choking sound. She glanced back at him to see the dwarf had blanched, his eyes huge with fear and worry. Not that he was the only one. No one looked particularly thrilled with the sight. Terrified would be a far more apt description. 

“The soldier, I know him,” Cullen said quietly eyeing the man hard. His gaze turned to the darkspawn. “But the other…? The Elder One?” Lani glanced at the Commander, then her gaze settled once more upon the figures in the distance. 

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole said, nodding slowly. Tone something akin to a low growl. They had to get moving. They had to do something. They couldn’t just stand here and wait to…..

“Cullen,” The Herald said in quiet desperation to the former templar and Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. “Give me a plan. Anything!”

“Haven is no fortress,” he said, the gears of his tactical mind grinding as he worked through multiple possibilities at once. “If we are to withstand this… _monster_ , we must control the battle.” Cullen looked about them then pointed to one of the few trebuchets the Inquisition had built just in case of attack. “Get out there and hit that force with everything you can,” he said firmly. Lavellan nodded, then hurried over to her companions.

“Blackwall. Bull. You and the Chargers help hold the gate. Cullen tells you to do something, do it.” Bull grunted, rolling his shoulders and hefting his axe. Krem already marshaling the mercenary company into order. “Lady Vivienne, join Grand Enchanter Fiona and the rebels mages. Help direct their attacks.” The Enchanter eyed the gathering mages with distaste but nodded. “Sera.”

“Yeah?” The slight blonde elf asked studying her apprehensively.

“Arrows.”

“Yeah! On it!” The Red Jenny vanished a second later to find an idle perch for maximum mayhem as was her specialty. 

“The rest of you with me.”

Behind them, Cullen was giving hurried orders to his soldiers. Finally he turned a address those gathering in ever growing force near the gates. “Mages!” He shouted. “You- You have sanction to engage them.” There was a slight hesitation in the words, likely born of his templar nature, but it was quickly overruled by the desperateness of their situation. “That is Samson! He will not make it easy. Inquisition! With the Herald!” Battle cries and roars rose around them as the soldiers and mages prepared for battle. “For your lives!” the Commander bellowed. “For all of us!”

 

Evening was falling fast, the sun growing ever lower in the sky. The attack was strategically timed. The setting sun hiding the true strength of the opponent and making it so the trebuchets would have to guess on their aim until the sun finally sank below the mountain pass and the glare diminished. It would buy the enemy time to move in closer before the Inquisition’s long range attacks could become overly effective. 

As such ‘red templars,’ as Cole had called them, were beginning to stream into Haven’s perimeter. They were terrifying warriors. Many so tainted their corruption showed in hideous mutations. Great spikes of red lyrium erupting from their armor, seemingly attached to the flesh beneath, welding metal to body. Others had forsaken metal armor entirely, their bare upper bodies warped and misshapen and covered in sharp angular protrusions. The shock value alone had been startling. Several agents falling before they could recover their senses. 

Lavellan and her trusted allies guarded one of the few trebuchets the Inquisition had for defense. Wave after wave of corrupted templars came at them, accompanied now and again by Venitori mages. 

“Keep them off us!” the soldier manning the war machine cried as a bolts made of red lyrium burrowed into the wood beside her head. 

The Dalish elf snarled and sent a jet of lighting at the attacking mutilated templar. It was thrown back several paces, slamming hard into the snow. Whilst unbalanced an Inquisition agents rushed in for the kill. The dalish woman cried out in warning but was too slow. The templar flailed, impaling its would-be assassin on the gleaming red sickle of crystal that had grown around its hand. Lani bared her teeth in rage, lighting the damnable creature on fire, then turned to find a new foe. 

On and on and on the enemy forces came. Sweat poured down the backs of the agents. Fatigue and wounds staved off with potions. Solas called up another of his whirling blizzards. Cassandra and her like used it to their advantage, shattering every foe that froze to great prejudice. Walls of flame and storms of lighting lit the area in brilliant flashes of color. 

“We’re almost ready,” the agent said as the trebuchet was sighted and its ballast reined in. 

“About damn time,” Lavellan shouted up to her as shard of lyrium as sharp as any silverite blade sliced deeply across the hallow of her cheek. Bianca avenged the wound for the elf. A bolt burrowing into the attacker’s face and exploding to gloriously gory effect. 

There was the sound of grinding gears, straining wood, and rattling chains and then a rock larger than the Herald’s hut went sailing through the air over their heads. The wind wailing around its passage.

“Get to the other Trebuchet,” the agent shouted to the elven woman. “It’s not firing!”

Lavellan said nothing, breath coming too heavily to do much more than nod. She motioned to the other mages, waved to Varric as she passed him, and trusted that Cassandra would follow when she saw the others move out. All of them downed potions as they ran. The tinkling of breaking glass soon lost in the din of battle. 

The second trebuchet was down the trail a fair bit. Around a bend and up a low rise. As the companions neared, it became clear why the machine was not firing. Trails of blood cut rivulets in the trampled snow. The smell of death and worse reaching their nose long before they could sight the base of the wooden structure. Cassandra growled and began her charge, but Lavellan caught her by the arm and held up a hand to pause the woman. 

“Now,” she shouted to the two other mages. Powers restored by lyrium, all three mages cast at once. Fire, lightening, and ice came to life in a nightmarish maelstrom of destruction. Boxes, crates, and debris were caught up in the gail, doing just as much damage as the magic itself. Templars cried out in shock and pain, several falling before the battle could begin. Varric let out a low impressed whistle as he watched. As the spells began to die down and the technicolor light show fade, Lavellan nodded to Cassandra. “Their all yours,” she said with a wicked grin completely devoid of mirth. 

The Seeker nodded and lunged forward at break-neck speed. Their necks. Not hers. The woman could put an impressive amount of force behind her shield when she wanted to. And she wanted to. A corrupted ruin of a templar twice her size flew through the air at the force of the impact. He struck another of his ilk that was too slow to dodge, both of them falling, the first impaled upon the blade of his companion. 

A crossbow bolt thrummed through the air pining the second man to the ground before he could rise. The fletchings protruding from the armored plate over his chest. His eyes wide with surprise and unseeing.

Fire. Ice. Crossbow bolt. Restorative potion. Sword. Lightening. Shield. Barrier. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

Night was falling. The sky bruised shades of purple, blue, and black. A bare sliver of red low along the frozen Frostbacks. The Herald wasn’t sure how long ago the sun had slipped below the horizon, but what light that was left was fading quickly as she took her turn cranking the wheel of the trebuchet. Her friends gathered around her in a protective circle. 

Without the glare behind the enemy army, the elven woman was better able to see the location of their forces. Struck by a thought, she began hauling on the wheel harshly, realigning the trebuchet for a new target.

“What are you doing,” one of the agents shouted at her. “You’ll miss their army!”

“You’ll see,” Lavellan called back fiercely. 

With one final check of her sights and one last crank of the wheel, she slammed the lever forward to release the coiled spring. The war machine boomed to life, hurling its payload at the high mountain peak. The agent looked on in dismay, believing the Herald had just wasted their shot. But then, the silence was cut by a crunching sliding roar that echoed and grew louder with each passing second. It seemed the entire side of the mountain had given way. Snow, ice, and rock hurtled down toward the trapped enemy army. There was nowhere for the men to run, and even if there had been, the torrent of snow was faster than they could ever be. 

The Inquisition looked on as the entire back half of the force was buried or cut off. Their numbers were still formidable, but Lani had leveled the playing field. Cheers and shouts of triumph went up from those not locked in desperate struggle for their lives and the air was filled with the sudden sense of hope. Hope that was utterly shattered as a great warbling roar echoed from beyond the pass. Lavellan’s heart plummeted. She had heard that roar before. 

Sure enough, the dark form of an impressive dragon took shape in the whirling snow between the great peaks. It soared upward, covering the ground between the mountains and the village in seconds. All around her gasps and cries of horror and fear went up. The dark shape grew ever closer, angling on the offending trebuchet.

“Move!” Lavellan shouted, leaping from the platform just as the beast sent a jet a odd arching red energy toward them. The trebuchet exploded in a shower of splintered wood and warped metal. The force threw the Herald and the others to the ground and sent them tumbling. 

“Shit!” Varric shouted as he righted himself and scrambled to reclaim the crossbow that was thrown from his grasp. “Who ordered the end of damned world!”

“That’s not possible,” Solas breathed in stunned horror, gazing up at the beast in flight, dust and wooden debris clinging to his robes. Blood welling where the skin had been cut. 

“Today is now _well_ beyond making sense,” Dorian gasped, terror and adrenaline making his words tremble. He too was covered in the detritus of the destroyed trebuchet. Bits of it nestled in his hair. Several pieces having left small abrasions along the bare skin of his hands and neck. Smoke curled from the hem of his robe where it had gotten too close to the beast’s flame. 

We can’t face it here. We have to... do something!” Cassandra roared, as she rolled to her feet, sword in hand. 

“Come on,” Lavellan said racing past the stunned men. “Everyone to the gates!” 

She had taken the worst of the shrapnel damage given her proximity to the war machine when it exploded. Bits of her robes were singed and steaming, one face of her face tinted pink as though she had spent too much time in the sun, and small curls of smoke rose from several strands of hair that had been shortened by heat. Debris had dented and scoffed the light armor plates she’s added to her robes ages ago. And where metal hadn’t stopped the shrapnel, she was left with cuts and bruises. But it was her hands that had faired the worst. Already blisters were beginning to form in a few places. The skin red and angry else where. She hurt. But the wounds were more a hindrance than any true danger to her health. They could wait. 

 

“Move it! Move it!” Cullen shouted, waving people through the gates and into the village. His face and armor were splattered with blood, the skin beneath pale with the worry he kept from his features. Lavellan and the others raced past him and up the stairs. The armorer, Harritt, hot on their heels, arms laden with gear. The Commander slammed the doors shut behind them and Bull and the Chargers braced it with planks. “We need everyone back to the Chantry,” Cullen said, anger and hopelessness darkening his words as he stomped up the steps. “It’s the only building that might hold against… _that beast_!” He paused, face turning into a hard glowering snarl. “At this point, just make them work for it.” 

“The people of Haven will not survive on their own,” Solas said, his blue eyes wide, brows creased with concern. 

“I know,” Lani breathed. Her mind working furiously. 

“You must evacuate to the Chantry,” Cassandra called out to the those gathered nearby, waving villagers, agents, and soldiers alike in the direction of the town center. 

“Best run, dear,” Vivienne said to the Herald as Fiona and her cohort hurried to help in any fashion they could. “The villagers will only slow you down.” Lavellan bristled at the words, wheeling on the Enchanter almost immediately.

Up to that point, the elf had always held her tongue with the woman, was always polite and respectful. Had never called her any name in public nor private, nor insulted her in anyway unless you count their differing views of mages and magic- which the enchanter clearly had. Vivienne had not only insulted Lavellan on many occasions from behind the veil of a smile, but had called her ‘rabbit’ in conversation with another Orlesian noble overheard by one of Leliana’s agents- a term less vile than knife-ear, but most certainly never intended as a compliment. Lani had bridled, but let it pass. Until now. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was the fact that everything hurt and she was exhausted. Perhaps it was because Vivienne was content, glad even, to guarantee her own safety and position at the expense of others. Or perhaps it was simply because Lavellan was tired of pretending to be a fool. Tired of being seen as a weak, simple-minded but usefully tool by this woman. Whatever it was that had been the last straw didn’t matter now. Lavellan had had enough. 

“You know what, Vivienne,” she growled low in her throat. “ _You_ run. _You_ take that pretty little ass of yours, with all your _great and impressive skill_ , and hide while the _real mages_ , the mages _actually_ loyal to the people, stay out here and defend them. At least in the Chantry your self-preserving instincts might spill over and aid others. Purely by accident perhaps, but it’ll help all the same.”

“I was only thinking of you, my dear,” the enchantress replied, her shocked smile more snarl than anything else. Something about the elf having unsettled her.

“How very kind of you,” Lavellan said mirroring the expression with the mocking shadow of a genteel smile, utterly unmoved. “With the Breach closed, _I_ will use whatever skill _I_ have to save as many of these people as possible.” She turned away then, staff already crackling with agitated power. “Run and hide, little _rabbit._ Run and hide,” she sneered. “The wolves have hunting to do.”

“And if you die, _Lady Herald_?” Vivienne called after her. The rabbit barb must have sunk deeper than Lani expected for she didn’t think it possible to fill two words with so much contempt. The dalish woman turned abruptly on her heel to face the Enchanter, while maintaining the pace that was rapidly putting distance between them, and swept into a deep and elegant bow. A gesture more at home in a royal court than a snow-blown backwoods village turned battle field.

“Then do me the fine honor of being the first to urinate upon my grave, First Enchanter Vivienne,” Lavellan said and by her tone one would have thought she had just paid the enchantress a high compliment rather than a veiled insult. She turned away again and added over her shoulder, “and then try not to die from the satisfaction. That would be in rather poor taste. Even for you.” With that the elf and her companions vanished into the tumult. 

“Was it wise to antagonize her like that, Vixen,” Varric asked under his breath, glancing nervously back where Vivienne had been only seconds before. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s not my favorite person in the world, but she holds a great deal of sway in the Imperial court and among some mages. Not really one I’d want as an enemy.”

“Alienate her? An enemy? Whatever do you mean?” Lavellan asked in mock confusion, pressing fingers to her chest in poor mimicry of the gesture she often saw ‘shocked’ courtiers use. “I gave her an order to go protect the Chantry due to my _great respect_ for her skills as a mage and _my utter trust_ that she would do all in her power to protect those inside,” the elf said smoothly, as she angled in on muffled cries for help and spied a group of soldiers struggling under the press of enemy forces.

“Only because she _is_ one of ‘those inside’,” snarked Sera, an arrow hissing out from her bow and spearing a templar through the helm as he endeavored to climb the outer wall and join the fray. 

“How very selfless and noble of her to make such a sacrifice at her honored Herald’s bidding. To watch us run off and leave her behind with such a great burden,” Lani said wryly with faint airs, spinning in place and sending a jet of flame outward. “Did you not see her protest my safety? How deeply she cares for my wellbeing? The poor woman will be simply _sick_ with worry until my safe return. No doubt wishing she could only have done more.”

“Or so she’ll say,” Dorian said, words growling around the edges with the concentration his spell casting required.

“Or so _we’ll_ say,” Lani corrected him. Dorian paused mid-stride, caught off-guard, but recovered quickly shooting the elven woman a quizzical look before returning his attentions to the fight.

“Why? What’s in it for you?” Varric asked, fitting a bolt and relocking Bianca. Lavellan burst out in a derisive laugh. Fire and lightening snapped and popped as she cast, making her chuckles all the more menacing.

“Power over her.” This cause several of them to pause in their attacks, stunned. “Madame De Fer has been operating under the assumption that I am just some tattooed little savage, who is good at surviving in the forests and dealing with a crowd,” Lani explained, making up for her companions’ slip with a flurry of attacks, “but utterly ignorant of the minefield called The Great Game.” She spun and slammed her staff to the ground. Orbs of glowing light streamed out from it and punching into a foe about to get the upper hand on a one of the Inquisition’s soldiers. Instead he died, his armor steaming. “In this she is wrong. I am not, nor was I ever, ignorant of The Game, especially the one she plays. Though Leliana and Josephine’s coaching has helped to augment my knowledge and strengthen the subtly in my approach.” Dorian snorted as the realization dawned.

“Oh ho! That is good, Lavellan,” he chortled. “You little minx! She never even saw it coming!”

“That was the point.” 

“I feel as though I have missed something,” Cassandra shouted as she cut down a templar stumbled by her shield and straightened to glance over. “Why does that matter?”

“Because Madame De Fer made a mistake,” Dorian explained excitedly. “And our Herald just hung her for it.”

Solas said nothing. Merely listening as the others held the conversation around him. If the Herald had just done as he believed, and given Dorian’s reaction he suspected he was right, then she was far more formidable than any of them had given her credit for. And that was saying something given the rapport she had built with each of them over the course of their time together.

“‘Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage,’ remember?” Lani grunted as an thrown lyrium shard glanced off her shoulder plating and spun away harmlessly. “Her little suggestion was meant to manipulate _me_ into a position of _her_ advantage,” the elven woman said through a snarl of concentration as she set off a chain reaction of lightening. “If I follow. Good for her. If we get called out as cowardly, she can blame the order on me. If I stay to fight and die. Well she tried and will live on to be remembered as trusted ally of the _Herald of Andraste,_ the fabled hero and martyr.” She let of a single chime of laughter. “Imagine how that would boost her standing after I so recently closed the Breach. Especially without me there to contradict it.” Dorian’s smirk was half sneer at the thought. The dalish elf spun to unleash another attack. “If I stay to fight and live- more connections for her by way of association. And if I claim her actions as cowardice… well,” she motioned to her ears, “elf. My word against hers.” She shook her head. “That and we still need her connections. No matter what I choose, she wins.” 

“ _So_ …?” Sera growled. “Sounds like Miss High’n’mightly has your glowy bits in a jar. All locked tight and proper.” 

“Gotta agree with Buttercup there,” Varric called. “I’m not seeing where the ‘winning’ part is.” 

“Alone, an elf’s voice… correction; a _dalish_ elf’s voice- even the Herald’s- is no threat to dear sweet Vivienne. Not now at least. And especially not in Orlais.” Dorian pointed out, picking up where Lavellan left off. “If Lani had gotten uppity… well, tragedies do happen in times of war and with the Breach sealed its not as though the world _needs_ the Herald anymore.” 

“You’re saying she would kill Lavellan?” Cassandra glowered. 

“Oh no, Seeker. Nothing so crude,” Dorian smirked darkly. “She’s smart enough to not dirty her own hands. But… accidents happen. Very sad. She’d mourn. Or pretend to. Then rise to power based on her relationship to the martyred Herald.” 

"She wouldn’t necessarily have to kill me,” Lani pointed out. “Just get me out of the way. Discredit me. Something there are already a great many people trying to do.” 

“Good point,” the tevinter mage said sparring a moment to stroke his mustache in thought. 

“And?” Cassandra prompted, her patience waning. 

“ _And_ I wasn’t alone was I? That’s where she made her mistake,” Lavellan said with a growl of effort as she attacked a group of templars. 

“She had that conversation right out in the open in front of all of us. Says something about her really,” Dorian mused. “Assuming the added eyes and ears would be to _her_ advantage.”

“To be fair, if her woeful underestimation of me had been correct it may well have worked out that way.”

“True, but it wasn’t. So it’s mute point…”

“Fair.” 

“Maker’s Breath! Would you two get on with it already!” Blackwall growled as he heaved his claymore into another swinging blow. 

“Fine. Fine,” Dorian said waving a hand dismissively. “If the Herald had fled to the Chantry like some terrified school girl, all the more leverage for the courtly Enchanter. But our dear elf didn’t, did she? Not only that, but she called Vivienne out right there for all to hear. Turning the trap back upon its maker. Vindicating herself- and the rebels mages, I might add- along the way. While making it all too clear that Lavellan knew exactly what the Enchanter truly thought of her. A misstep as far as would-be alliances are concerned.” To Lavellan he asked, “did she really call you a ‘rabbit’?” Lani nodded. 

“According to Leliana, yes.” 

“That certainly shows her true colors,” he growled. “Well played, my friend. Remind me never to play Wicked Grace with you. You apparently have on hell of a poker face.” The dalish elf snorted. 

“She can’t silence _all of us_ without _someone_ noticing,” Lavellan hummed with a little shrug of her shoulder. Bull charged past her, axe held high. “My voice in The Game is not very powerful at this moment. But it has the potential to become quite so in future. And with all of you at my back in the present…”

“We make up for what your standing lacks,” Solas supplied. 

“Exactly. And our collective voice will only grow stronger. It is likely that there could be a time in the not so distant future when Vivienne needs our connections to remain relevant in this changing world far more than we need hers,” Lani said. “I’d never black mail her… At least not unless absolutely necessary. But she doesn’t know that. Especially now that I’ve revealed myself to be far more capable than she thought. May as well use her slip to my advantage. Put her on the defensive for a little while.” She ducked as thrown crystal flew over her head and burrowed into the wooden planks behind her. “Besides, I may have bloodied her nose, but I also let her walk away with the framework for a narrative that casts her in a noble light while making it perfectly clear to her and all- what?” Lavellan did a quick nose count, “Seven? Eight of us? Not including all of the Chargers that overheard- That I knew precisely what she was doing and that she had failed.”

“You out maneuvered her,” Solas said, eyes narrowing in thought, a slow smirk spreading. “But you left her piece on the board when you could have thrown it altogether.” 

“An olive branch, if you will,” the Herald nodded. Sending a bolt of power at a charging templar and knocking him back. “Though I doubt she will be so lax in the future.” 

“Nicely done, Boss,” Bull rumbled approvingly as the last templar fell. The besieged soldiers shouted hasty thanks then heading off to find others in need. “Better watch yourself though. The Enchantress doesn’t strike me as one to forget a slight.” Lavellan let on a tired little laugh. 

“What’s one more person who has it out for me?” She asked wearily. “Last I check, a would-be god may be on my tail. And it's not as though I’m the Chantry’s _friend._ Viv is scary. No doubts there. But that’s what I’ve got you for,” she said socking him lightly in the arm as she walked past. “Besides. There’s always the hope for redemption. Though I doubt I’ll ever be comfortable with that woman at my back.” Lani sighed heavily, suddenly feeling a great deal older than her years. 

“For now the viper and the wolf have reached an accord,” Solas said coming up beside her. “You may never be friends, but you are still of great benefit to one another. Sometimes that is the more valuable prize.” 

“I certainly hope so,” the elven woman breathed. “Come on,” she said to he companions. “There’ve got to be more folks that need in help.”

 

With the fighting near the gate eased, the Herald and her companions moved deeper into the village. Ranks of red templars had spilled further into the village. Buildings were ablaze in all directions. Set that way by the soldiers or the dragon that continued to circle overhead. 

Lavellan sent Bull, the Chargers, and Blackwall one way, while she in and the others when the opposite direction. The elven woman gave everyone direct orders to help anyone they could, but to get to the Chantry as quickly as possible. As such they were able to rescue Fissa, the tavern owner, before the burning roof could cave in upon her, Minaeve and Adan from meeting unfortunate ends due to explosive barrels, Seggrit from roasting to death in his own hut, and even Threnn, who had become overwhelmed with red templars. 

“I didn’t expect this from you,” the requisitions officer said shaking her head as Lavellan helped her up. She stood shakily, bent with fatigue, breathing heavily from the battle they had just fought. “But thanks.” The Herald nodded to her then motioned to the Chantry. 

“You’re the last one,” she said. “Get to the Chantry while there’s the chance, yeah?”

“Fair enough,” Threnn said. Cassandra hooked an arm under the other woman’s and began helping her toward the door.

“Well rescued,” said a panting Dorian as he came alongside Lani. “Shall we follow suit.”

“After you,” she smirked, gesturing toward the Chantry. 

Lavellan cast one last look around the burning village that had been a home to her for the past many months and was more heart broken than she thought she would be to see it in ruins. She noted with some hope that the livestock had been moved to safety and the homes and building that burned had already been stripped of their most valuable items, personal or otherwise. At least there was that… if nothing else, there was that. 

 

As Lani ran for the only stone structure in all of Haven, the great dragon screamed overhead. The doors of the Chantry opened wide and Chancellor Roderick, supported by Cole motioned for them to hurry.

“Move! Keep going,” he called waving the last of them inside. “The Chantry is your shelter!” The cleric didn’t look good. Face ashen, drawn, and sweaty. Blood staining one half of his robes. 

Even before Lavellan had skidded to a complete stop on the dampened stone floors, agents were shutting the heavy doors behind her and barring them. 

“He tried to stop a templar,” Cole explained when the elven woman’s eyes returned to him and his ward. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What.. a charming boy,” Roderick croaked as Cole lowered him slowly to the ground against a stone pillar. There were wounded leaning against many of the Chantry’s pillars or stretched out upon the floor. Lani noted to some relief that Vivienne was seeing to some of the more gravely injured. Out of self-preservation or not, the enchantress was a powerful mage and the people desperately needed any help she was willing to give. Boxes of supplies and bags full of belongs lined the hall. People milled about, lending any help they could where ever they could. The sight moved the dalish woman even as it broke her heart. 

“Herald,” Cullen said hurrying to stand by her. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us,” he snarled hand gesturing roughly in the direction of the foul beast's lasts shriek. Lani nodded mutely. Her hands ached. Some of the blisters had ruptured in the fighting and the reddened skin felt tight and swollen. _Funny the little things you notice in times such as these,_ she thought distantly, fingers flexing. 

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole said quietly from where he kneeled beside the wounded cleric. “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” The elf’s large eyes turned to study him. 

“I don’t care would it looks like,” the Commander growled heatedly. “It’s cut a path for that army! They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” the pale man replied, brow furrowing, head tilting as he looked first to Cullen then to Lani. “He only wants the Herald.”

“If you know why he wants me just say it,” Lavellan said. There was no energy for dread left in her drained body. “But if it will save these people, he can have me.”

“It won’t help. I don’t why,” he said shaking his head, eyes going unfocused as if listening to something only he could hear. “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.” The boy’s eyes focused again and his expression soured. “I don’t like him,” he said darkly, fear lacing the words. Cullen scoffed. 

“You don’t _like_ …” he sighed in frustration, looking skyward in exasperation before turning to the elven woman. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing which slowed them was the avalanche.” The Commander rubbed at the back of his neck. “We could turn the remain trebuchets. Cause one last slide…”

“We’re overrun,” Lani countered, exhausted eyes meeting his. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying,” Cullen said bluntly, but not unkindly. “But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice,” he trailed off gently. He was right and Lavellan knew it, but still she hesitated to answer. 

The dying cleric gazed absently toward the back of the Chantry. The odd man beside him turned to face the same way, seeming to see something where Lani saw nothing. 

“Yes, that,” the rogue said quietly, head titling as if considering a thought. “Chancellor Roderick can help,” he said louder, catching the Herald and Commander’s attention. “He wants to say it before he dies.”

“There is a path,” the older man wheezed as he tried and failed to sit up. “You wouldn’t know it… unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage… As I have.” He paused for breath. “The people can escape… She must have shown me… Andraste must have shown me.. so I could tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” Lani asked, crouching before him so he wouldn’t have to strain as hard to see her.

“It was whim that I walked the path,” he said with a gentle wave of his hand. “I did not mean to start… It was overgrown…” A shadow fell over the Chancellor’s features. “But now, with so many at the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers…. I don’t know. If this simple memory can save us, this could be more… than mere accident… _You_ could be more,” he said meeting the elven woman’s eyes.

“What about it, Cullen?” Lani said glancing up. “Will it work?”

“Possibly,” the tall soldier replied, chin pinched between fingers and thumb in thought. “If he shows us the path.” Lani nodded and straightened. 

“I can bury an army. Stop _them_ from following, at least,” she said gesturing toward the door as she rose. Then she shook her head. “But that _thing_ is flying. I’m not sure if an avalanche will stop it.”

“It won’t stray from the Elder One,” Cole said quickly, clearly meaning his words to be reassuring. And Lani supposed they were in a way. “He’s here for you.”

“Very well then,” she said straightening and pulling on the pair of fingerless leather gloves someone had snagged from her hut for her. They were flexible and allowed easy gripping of her staff, but were also light plated on the outside for greater damage protection. _If I’d had them when the siege began, my hands wouldn’t be… No use dwelling on it now. At least, they’ll be better protected from here on out._ “If that thing is here for me, I’ll make him fight for it.” 

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” Cullen asked, his concerned gaze taking in her battered armor, her cuts, scrapes, and burns, her dirt and ash smirked face and hair. “What of your escape?” Lavellan said nothing. She simply looked toward the heavy Chantry doors she had passed through on so many occasions and futzed with the hem of her glove that was absolutely refusing to lay properly. _To think this will be the last time,_ she thought. _No matter the outcome._ The Commander drew in a sharp breath as realization dawned and let it out slowly. “Perhaps you will surprise it,” he offered weakly, warm eyes tight at the corners. “Find a way.” The dalish elf looked up at the Commander and favored him with a small sad smile. She rested one hand on the side of his face for the briefest moment, his skin sweat slicked and rough with stubble, before returning to her work.

“I will try,” she said as she tightened the straps that secured her staff. And she would. But they both knew her odds. Cullen’s jaw tightened and he turned to those gathered. 

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!” Instantly, the Chantry was filled with a flurry of motion as soldiers, mages, and civilians alike all headed for the back of the old stone building. Cole helped the Chancellor rise and supported him as they began to shuffle along.

“Herald,” Roderick said stopping Cole to turn and address Lavellan face-to-face, one bloodied hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. “If _you_ are meant for this, if the _Inquisition_ is meant for this, I pray for you.”

Lavellan nodded once to him. Giving him a warm smile in exchange for the apology beneath his words. It seemed to lighten the man, as though a great weight had been lifted from him, and he and Cole moved off. 

“So this is it, Vixen,” Varric said coming to stand beside her. The Herald turned and found all of her companions, even Vivienne, gathered and awaiting _her_ word. It warm something deep inside of her to see them all willing to stand at her side if called too. 

“It would seem so, Master Tethras,” she said. 

“What would you have of us, Herald,” Vivienne asked, her tone aloof but steady. Lavellan thought for a moment, studying all of them then the fleeing people of Haven. 

“Sera, Vivienne, Blackwall, and Bull. I want you to accompany Cullen and his people. Take his orders and protect and aid in the retreat as best you can."

“Want me to leave the Chargers, Boss?” Bull rumbled. “You might need the extra hands.” 

“No,” she said gently. “Take them with you. They’ll be of more value there.”

“Understood,” the qunari said and in that one word he managed to encompass so many thoughts. Bull immediately turned and began marshaling orders, which were repeated by Krem, and on down the ranks of his company. 

“Good luck, alright,” Sera said somewhat awkwardly, fidgeting with the string of her bow. “The breachy-thing might be closed, yeah. But just… don’t go doing anything stupid, right. I like you better when you’re not dead.”

“Noted,” the dalish elf smirked. 

“You’re an honorable woman,” Blackwall said to Lavellan before putting an arm around the Red Jenny and leading her off. 

“And us,” Dorian asked cautiously. The Herald looked at him with those big green, gold-flecked eyes of her and something deep within them flickered mischievously. 

“You once told me not to go killing anyone without you,” she said ruefully. “Well I’m gonna go run off and kill some bad guys. Wanna come?”

“Do I ever,” he breathed in relief.

It seemed fitting to Lavellan that if this was to be her last stand, she would stand with those who had stood beside her from the beginning. Plus Dorian, who was quickly becoming like a brother to her. Two pariahs of misunderstood peoples, thousands of miles from home, among folks who would rather they didn’t exist, standing up to protect the innocent. They were as similar as they were different and they loved that about one another. 

Cullen came over a few moments later as Lavellan and her group were doing final adjustments to their battle worn gear and resupplying their potions. He handed her a few extra vials of varying color, which she took gratefully and tucked into a pouch. Then he held out a single red bottle with a pointed look at her hands and cut face. 

“It won’t heal you. At least not much,” he said. “But it should take the edge off.”

“Cullen, I-”

“It’ll give me peace of mind, Herald,” he said cutting her off, his brow furrowing deeply. “And Maker knows, there is little enough of that to go around at the moment.” Lavellan snorted lightly and gave him a weary wry look. But she plucked the glass from his fingers, sipped most of it, then pealed off her gloves and worked the last few drops into the skin. The open blisters sealed and the redness dimmed a few shades though the skin still remained brittle and raw. She waggled her fingers at him in show and slipped her gloves back on. 

“Better, Commander?”

“Yes,” he sighed, then straightened, tone once more fully business like. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree-line,” he said as the Herald rose and took up her staff. The Commander’s face hardened though something just beneath the surface was straining, fighting him. A softness in his eyes that told her he hated everything about this plan, but couldn’t see a better way. “If we are to have a chance… If _you_ are to have a chance… Let that thing hear you!” 

“You got it, Commander,” she said with a fierce nod of her head before she turned to her friends. “Let’s go give ‘em hell.” With that she pushed out of the Chantry, casting one last reassuring smile at the armored ex-templar who stood watching after her before the doors could close blocking him from view. 

 

Haven was little more than a smoldering ruin. Black smoke curled from the embers of the mostly wooden structures. The fire light gleamed off the crimson crystals scoring the flesh of the templars, reflected off the shine of their armor. 

“We need to be noticed?” Dorian laughed fiercely. “Happens to be a specialty of mine.”

“If there is one thing I know, it’s how to get an asshole’s attention,” Varric called, bring Bianca to his shoulder. 

With a battle roar the Elder One’s forces charged the little band of defenders and were greeted, near instantly, with a wall of flame. The glare of it obscured the Herald and her allies from sight and silhouetted the enemy soldiers making them easy targets. Ice dented in one man’s chest plate and he fell with a choking gasp. Cassandra raced forward, sword and shield at the ready, and Dorian dropped his wall just long enough for the Seeker to pass through before raising it once more. The ringing of metal striking metal echoed as the the warrior woman spun, parried, slashed, and charged. Cassandra’s fluid movements were far too honed and quick for the templars to match, especially in their augmented forms, but there were more of them than there were of her. Had it not been for Varric picking men off with powerful head-shots, the Seeker may well have been overwhelmed. 

There was movement to Lavellan’s left and she turned just in time to see men readying for a charge having worked their way around Dorian’s flaming wall. She cried out in warning, drawing the attention of the other mages and sent her will out in a power blast of violent violet light. For a moment, the snow shone purple. The spell was powerful enough to char one man’s armor and slow him and his allies down. It was all that was needed for Solas and Dorian to shift position and change tactic. Well the Seeker and storyteller handled one group, the mages did the other. 

As soon as the path was clear, Lavellan took off at a run, channeling amethyst flame at anything flammable she could find. If the Elder One wanted to know where she was, so be it. He could come and take her. 

Thrice more they found their path blocked by soldiers and thrice more they fought their way through. They had been ladened with all the potions they could carry- healing, regenerative, lyrium, even a few of Sera’s jar’s of bees when they left the Chantry. And while they used them sparingly -there was no telling how long it would take to get the villagers to safety and it would do the people no good if their defenders died before escape was had- their stocks were quickly depleting. Even so Lavellan removed an angular jar glowing a faint amber color from her hip.

“Back up off my dwarf!” she screamed giving the bottle a single forceful shake and hurled it at the small group of corrupted men harrying Varric. The storyteller saw it coming, dropping and rolling out of the way. The bottle exploded across the breast plate of one of the soldiers spraying glass and angry insects in all directions. The tiny infuriated creatures set to work on the tainted men with extreme prejudice. 

“That was cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?” The dwarf shouted as he ran over to her, checking over his shoulder to be sure no bees were following his flight.

“I knew you’d move,” she shrugged. “Knew they wouldn’t. Not fast enough anyway.” To the others she called, “Come on, guys. Lets get to that trebuchet and throw some rocks before someone decides they want another taste of bees.” As they pounded through the snow, Lavellan cast a rye glance at Varric. “Think Hawke’ll mind I claimed you as my dwarf? Or will I have to arm wrestle her for you?” The rogue burst out laughing.

“Andraste’s tits, Vixen. The whole damn world is caving in and a giant darkspawn from Maker-knows-where is after you and _that’s_ what you’re worried about?” He asked. “Whether Hawke with be miffed at you for saving my hairy ass?”

“Hey, I gotta keep my priorities straight,” the elf huffed cheerfully, or at least in a close approximation of something cheerful.

“Right,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I’d say buy her a drink, but I’m not sure I want to be a witness to the mischief you too would get into.” He paused for a moment in thought then chuckled. “Then again it’d probably make for one hell of a story.”

“Well then. That’s all the motivation I need to survive this,” the elf grinned. “Gotta stick around to help inspire your next best seller.” 

“We survive this, Vixen, I’ll even buy the drinks.”

“You’re on.”

“There’s our glorious end,” Dorian said as the trebuchet came into view. “All it needs is aiming!”

Cassandra and Solas reached the war machine first. The Seeker covered the fade-walker as he began to haul on the wheel, aligning the great war machine. He didn’t get more than a few turns in before he and Cassandra were throw back hard by a Venitori spell. 

The elvhen man skidded through the snow, going down on one knee, but refused to fall. He looked up with an angry snarl and emerald light flared out from him in a forceful blast, washing over the line of incoming templars, staggering them and even denting or frosting over their armor. Even Lavellan felt the wave from where she had slid to a stop in the snow and ice, her skin tingling in the way it always did when his power brushed against her. 

Before he could rise, Lani sent a jet of electric energy arcing over him and into the stunned men. The brilliant lightening bounced between them, shocking and charring their armor, steam rising from their tunics and hair. Cassandra moved in quickly, relieving one man of his head before he could turn to face her and bashing another’s helm in with the edge of her shield. 

The Venitori mage worked his around the allies, endeavoring to flank them and attack from behind. He had not taken into account there had been five Inquisition agents at the bottom of the low rise but only four stood at the trebuchet now. As the hooded supremacist drew in his will to cast a curse upon the two elves, dwarf, and warrior woman, Dorian appeared behind him making a tsking sound.

“Now. Now. You really should learn to count before trying to sneak up on your enemy,” he purred in the man’s ear, the end of his staff resting between the mages shoulder blades. “You might find you missed one. And I _am_ rather hard to miss.” And with had he blasted a hole in the venitori’s back. Waving the noxious smoke that rose from the scorched fabric away from his face, he trotted down out of the trees and over to Lavellan.

“Got him?”

“Got him.”

“Good. Help me with this would you?” The two of them hurried over to the trebuchet and Dorian aligned it further as Lani stood watch. 

“Be ready,” Solas called to them. “More coming our way!” 

Lani snarled in warning to Dorian as she cast barriers over all her friends. It was only a group of a few red templars, no mages, no monstrously deformed crystal throwers. Just men. Something didn’t feel right. It seemed more like a scouting force than anything. _But what is a scouting force be doing in the middle of a battle field?_

“Supplies!” Cassandra called as she rushed past the casting elven woman and her tevinter counter part, strapping bottles to her belt as she went then drawing her sword. The Herald checked her own straps and pouches and found she was lower in stocks than she thought. She grabbed Dorian’s arm and turned to retrace the Seeker’s steps. 

Solas waved to them from a few paces away, then hefted a crate and began carrying it over to his fellow mages. 

“These may better our chances,” he said setting the box down.

“Good timing, Dream-walker,” she said crouching to snag a health potion and two spare lyrium. “I was just about out.” It wasn’t a lot, but it was a chance. A chance to take out a few more red templars. A chance to give the people of Haven more time. Lani would take all the chances she could get. 

“At least we’ll put up a fight!” Varric said with a shrug as he hurriedly filled his pockets and racing back to his perch. Bianca was in hand and firing before he had come to a complete stop. 

For the first time since they’d left the Chantry, Lavellan got a good look at her companions. Dorian was sporting a cut just below his eye and already the area was staring to swell and purple. There were holes in one bellowing sleeve where thrown lyrium crystals had torn the fabric and grazed the skin beneath. The side of his robe and a pant-leg show similar tears and stains. The mage was breathing heavily, but his face was set in grim determination. Before her, Solas’s scalp, face, and neck were scratched and cut in several places. An ear nicked where an arrow or shard of crystal had been barely dodged. There was a clean slice through sleeve of his robes just above one elbow. Likely from a blade of some sort. The wound beneath bled freely. He seemed to be favoring one side as well. The side a templar had slammed into, plunging through his barrier, and throwing him to the snow earlier in the battle. 

Lavellan glanced down at herself to find her own robes stained with blood. Hers and others'. She became consciously aware of the throbbing ache across one side of her back, shoulder, and spine. An uncomfortable grinding that hinted of fractured bone. There was spreading pain across one flank. And the skin of her hands was all but worn away in places. It wasn’t to be helped. Unless the pain became too great to bare or the wounds life threatening, they would just have to push through. Unable to spare potions for anything but the gravest injuries. 

The Herald return to the trebuchet. Staff leaning against the side of the structure, well within arms reach, she took her turn cracking the wheel that aimed the heavy contraption. 

“They brought big reinforcements!” Varric shouted from above and behind her on the rocky outcropping he had claimed. The dwarf’s voice shook with apprehension. The dalish elf glanced up at him and saw that he was in no better shape than the mages. Nor was the Seeker who stood in midst of a field of bodies idly swing her blade in circles to keep her muscles loose and warm between foes. 

“Keep going!” Cassandra called to her. “We’ll cover you.” 

Lani nodded and returned to her task of aiming the trebuchet. _It’s fortunate,_ she thought as the great war machine rotated, _that this one was never fired. We’d be dead by now if we’d had to load it too._ Behind her magic flared, Bianca thrummed, and metal rang on metal. Now and again a barrier would cloak her in protective energy. _Almost there. Just a few more turns…._ The ground shuddered. Then it shuddered again. 

“Seeker! What the hell is that?” The dwarven rogue yelled in horror. 

“Maker preserve us,” Cassandra breathed. 

Lavellan looked up from her task in time to see… _What on earth and under sky is that thing?_ The corrupted creature was well over two stories tall and seemingly _made_ of red lyrium. If some little boy’s kitty was stuck on the roof of the tavern, this _thing_ could probably have reached it down without so much as needing to stand on its tip toes. However, Lani very much doubted it was here to rescue kittens. At some point in time it may have been a man. It still held the roughest form of one, although asymmetrical. Two arms- one huge and curving, the other lean, long, and tipped in wicked claws. Two legs, heavy and slow. Broad leaning torso. And the ‘face’ nested between the great spires of red lyrium that covered the entirety of its upper body seemed vaguely human and somewhat familiar. But all other signs of what it had been before were gone. Replaced by creaking, snapping red crystal and inhumane strength. Its steps were ponderous at a walk, but it could charge and swing the great curving ‘fist’ of lyrium with unbelievable speed. An ability it demonstrated as it raced toward them.

“Scatter!” the Herald yelled, grabbing her staff and taking several hasty steps back. “Surround it. Hit it with everything you’ve got. Keep moving! Don’t let it pin down your location. And for the love of all things holy, stay _out_ of its reach!” 

The others acted. As one they moved out, flanking the behemoth. Shifting and moving as they attacked so that the beast spun in confusion and pain. It worked. The beast lashed out but only managed glancing blows. Granted a glancing blow from something that sized was enough to send them flying, to dent armor, and burst barriers like soap bubbles. Still, a direct blow would surely have been deadly and the agents of the Inquisition took less damage than they gave. For a while at least. 

The beast was slowly penning them in, forcing them closer with great barricades of red lyrium not unlike Solas’s ice walls, save that the crystals were not spells and did not fade or melt with time. That and the behemoth would not be on its own for long. Already malformed shard throwers were closing in accompanied by less corrupted templars. If they didn’t fell the beast soon, the battle would become a great deal more desperate. 

With a roar of wild rage at the breaking of its guard, a great fist slammed down upon the earth. Cassandra, the intended target dodged the attack, but it didn’t matter. Great crystal spikes erupted from the frozen soil in a curved wall of jagged blades where the creatures arm impacted. A spear caught the running Seeker just under the armor of her thigh and lifted her from the ground. She cried out in agony and fury, sword sweeping downward at the offending formation, shattering it, and sending her tumbling the ground with another cry of pain. 

Lavellan was moving toward her even before Cassandra came to a rest. Solas shouted a warning and while Lani’s reflexes were hindered, his weren’t. A pointed crystal shard hissed past the elven woman’s ear, knocked off deathly course by a ball of ice. The Herald hooked her arms under the Seeker’s and bodily dragged her back from the behemoth and as out of the way of the fighting as she could. Her wounded shoulder shrieked in agony at the strain, but the blood staining the snow in an ever widening pattern, seeping through Cassandra’s fingers as she tried to keep pressure on both sides of the wound kept the elf moving. 

Lani worked quickly, eyes darting between the behemoth, the templars that were closing in, and her heavily injured friend. They only had two health potions remaining between them, but she grabbed both. Varric, Solas, and Dorian, could keep the beast at bay for now, they might even kill it, but they wouldn’t make it through this battle without the Seeker. Not with the Elder One’s forces closing in. They needed the warrior. 

Lavellan shoved one opened potion unceremoniously into Cassandra’s hand. “Drink,” she said around the cork of the second bottle she had just torn open with her teeth. Cassandra did. And where the Seeker’s hand lifted, the Dalish First’s took its place. Lavellan passed the Seeker a stripe of leather. “Bite.” The warrior took it without protest and did as instructed. Satisfied, Lani shoed the Seeker’s other hand from her torn flesh, dumped the second bottle of health potion directly upon the opening in the woman’s mail, then clamped her own hands forcefully around it. Cassandra growled in pain, teeth digging into the leather. Lavellan did her best to ignore her, focusing on the white light that flared from her hands and the wound beneath them. 

A templar charged at the elf’s back. The Seeker gave a warning groan and Lani whirled on her knees, one palm sending lightening at the man, staggering him. He didn’t fall. She couldn’t spare much strength for him if she intended to heal Cassandra and the injury was loosing blood quickly, so in one smooth motion she drew the slender blade from its sheath at her lower back, tossed it lightly in her hand until she held the smooth metal between her scarlet soaked fingers, then send it spinning at their attacker. It struck home. Sinking several inches into his skull, it stole the life from him in an instant. Two more templars turned their way at the sound of his cry. Swords rising. 

“Solas!” Lani screamed, unable to keep the tremor of fear and anxiety from her voice. If she raised her staff to fight she would lack the strength she needed to heal the warrior at all, let alone get her back on her feet _now._ And even if she had the stamina, Cassandra would bleed out long before the elf could fell the soldiers. 

The tall elven man heard his name and wheeled away from the nearly downed behemoth. Spying the two woman, the growing crimson stain around them, and the on coming templars, he ran. Casting even as he moved. 

A barrier came up around the Herald and the Seeker, deflecting the closer templar’s first strike. Then a ball of ice struck him hard in the chest, flinging him away harshly. The dalish woman sent out a blast of mental power, knocking the second man away and giving Solas time to skid to a stop near them. Lavellan turned her entire attention to the Seeker’s injured leg then, confident Solas would warn them should he become overwhelmed. 

“Brace yourself, Cass,” she said as she pulled her will in. “This will not be pleasant.” Lani heard a muffled snarled that seem to convey ‘get on with it’ followed by a steady rhythm of mutterings she recognized as belonging to the Chant of Light. With a low breath, the Herald sent the power coursing into the wound. Cassandra yelled from behind her bit, but held firm, her chanting continuing though more huffed than before due to bared teeth. The elf sensed more than felt the flesh beneath her hands mend. The wounded had been deep, passing all the way through the limb and clipping one of the arteries along the way, but it was a relatively clean puncture. Lavellan could seal it well enough to make it serviceable for now, though it would leave an impressive scar. After what left like ages but was probably no more than a minute, Lani sat back exhaustedly. “There. Try to move it.” 

Cassandra let out a groan as muscles stiff from abuse and being mended protested. She was extremely pale. The pallor making her many cuts and bruises stand out all the more. With a grunt of satisfaction, she began to slowly rise to her feet. Lavellan ever present at her side. Putting weight on the leg caused the Seeker to hiss in discomfort, but the limb held. Finally, the Seeker nodded.

“It will do,” she said spitting out the leather, tired eyes meeting tired eyes. The spell was draining. For both parties. But they had little choice. Without immediate help Cassandra would have died. Without Cassandra, they all would have died. 

“Good,” the elven woman said, staff once more in hand as she turned to face a fresh wave of foes rounding the bend. To her relief there were few of them. “You might feel a bit dizzy due to blood loss so be extra wary.” The Seeker nodded in understanding. 

They all guarded Lavellan while she hauled on the gears. With a final rattle the trebuchet shuddered to a stop. The elf slumping against the wheel for a moment to catch her breath, forehead resting against cool wood. Eyes closed she could hear her allies breathing heavily around her. The smell of sweat, smoke, blood, and worse filled her nostrils. _It's almost over… almost…_

Above them the great dragon roared and Lavellan’s blood ran cold. She had all but forgotten about the beast in the fight with the behemoth and healing Cassandra. She gazed up in horror as the black shadow swung wide to angle in on them.

“Move!” She screamed pushing off from the trebuchet and making a break for the trees. She’d wait for the signal from Cullen, but she’d be damned if she’d stand out in the open as she did so. The dragon came in low. Its maw opened, emitting a jet of crackling lightening-like flame. The Inquisition agents dove from the attack. Something exploded, flinging them through the air and causing them to tumble and spin in the snow. When the dizzied Lavellan rose she found herself alone on one side of a wall of flame, her friends and only escape route cut off from her. _At least they can still make it,_ she thought. _Still flee. And with the trebuchet ready to fire…_ “Go!” She roared. “Now! Before it comes back!” The two mages, the dwarf, and the warrior simply started at her. Emotions flickering across their faces like the light of the dancing flames. Fear. Shock. Horror. Sorrow. Anxiety. Pain. Loss. Defiance. Several moved to speak at once. 

“Vixen, you can’t-” 

“I won’t leave you alone to-”

“Herald, please-”

“I will not have you _die here_ with me when you can escape! When the Inquisition still needs you!” She glared directly at the Seeker. “So help me, Cassandra Pentaghast, I will not watch you die twice!” Emerald eyes darts to the tall elven man beside the warrior, who had reminded silent even as the others protested. “Nor you Solas! Don’t you dare ask that of me! Don’t you dare ask me to watch… to watch you die again,” she said through gritted teeth, the branches of her vallaslin lacing across her brows with emotion. The corners of her eyes stinging. “Not when you can escape. Not when there is no need. _Now go_!” 

The sound of her fury and desperate frustration seem to jar them. Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly as if swallowing an objection, nodded to the Herald- a motion steeped in respect and unspoken thought, grabbed a protesting Dorian by the collar of his robes and began bodily hauling him up the path toward safety. Her steps steady and purposeful, except for the limp. The corners of her eyes tight. Her free fist clenched tightly at her side. The tevinter mage spluttered and twisted, calling out to the elven woman, trying to break free of the Seeker’s grasp, but she held him firm. A fact Lavellan would be forever grateful for. She wasn’t sure she would’ve had the strength to send him away for a second time.

Solas stared at dalish woman across the flames as if seeing her for the first time. The blood upon her face, splattering her robes, staining her hair. The fierceness of her gaze. Fire danced in those eyes. Not just reflections of the inferno around them, but from inside. As though her very soul was ablaze. A month, two months, a year ago, he would have fled without bidding. Saving himself for the proper battle. But as he looked at her now, _saw her_ , he found himself hesitating.

“Go! Please!” She all but screamed, her voice cracking with the plea as the dragon circled lower overhead, her wide eyes flickering to its flight then back to them.

“Watch yourself, Vixen,” Varric called to her, backing away, hoping the shifting shadows would hide the sorrow he felt. “Maker watch over you,” he added under his breath. He grabbed the tall elven man’s sleeve as he passed. 

Solas’s face darkened as he forced himself to look away from the Herald. He turned and followed after the dwarf. Hating himself all the while. For his folly and his arrogance. For the hard truth he seen revealed before him in a simple dalish elf. For being so blinded by his purpose. His bitter resolve grew stronger with every step.

 

“Creators guide your journey,” Lavellan said as she watched them go, following the path of their shadows until she could no longer see their shapes through the trees. Then she head toward to the trebuchet to wait. She stopped short though as through the smoke and flame before her a shadow began to take form. The outline of the darkspawn she had witnessed upon the low peak. 

“I am Dalish. Descended of those who would not surrender,” she said under her breath, squaring her shoulders and facing the oncoming horror with her chin held high and proud, even as goose flesh rippled down her arms in apprehension and a few unbidden tears carved clean trails down her cheeks. She had said her goodbyes and dying did not scare her, especially when it meant the safety of innocence and those she cared for, but she did not relish being alone at the end. “I am the First of Clan Lavellan. Their future Keeper and protector of the ancient ways.” The words came like a chant. Filled with quiet power. “I am of wolven kin, blessed by the Dread Wolf himself.” She brought her staff up in front of her. The end burrowing into the snow, the crystal tip ablaze. The words growing stronger and louder with each syllable. “I am the protector of these people. The believed Herald of their Prophet.” Emerald and violet light sheathed her and the long length of ironbark. “And I. Will. Not. Bow!”

The Elder One stalked toward her. The howling cries of his dragon an ever present soundtrack. The darkspawn was easily three times or more Lavellan’s height and equally as broad. Spikes of what appeared to be dark red lyrium grew out and back from his face in think sheets, the skin scarred and mangled around the protrusions. His armored robes seemed to have long ago become one with his flesh making it hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Skin stretched like an grotesque mesh over metal or bone or perhaps even stone. It was hard to tell precisely and Lani was fairly certain she didn’t wish to know in any case. 

Behind her the great hideous drake landed, hopping and skipping to a halt as it slowed its momentum. Kicking up great clouds of snow and ash. The earth shook under the weight of its movements. The beast bellowed, the sound shocking her nerves and leaving her ears ringing. Its tail lashed back and forth in agitation like that of an angry cat. But while she hated having loathsome creature at her back, she did not turn to face it. Instead, focusing all her attention on the darkspawn, banking on the dragon not killing her without his order. When the towering form was no more than a ten meters away, Lani released her spell. 

“Enough,” the Elder One said, waving a hand and deflecting the working with little apparent effort. The elf’s heart faltered for a beat or two. Stunned. He had slapped aside her spell as though it were an annoying fly when it should have charred a hole clean through his chest. She fought the urge to slump in exhaustion, the wayward working having utterly drained the last of her reserves. While it looked increasingly likely that these were to be her final moments, she would at least meet her end with dignity and grace. _Never thought I’d grow up be a martyr,_ she thought. _Not for the Chantry at least._ The notion was almost amusing. Behind her, the dragon continued its tinny, grating, baying. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” The Elder One’s voice was deep, reverberating like the dragon’s, like Cassandra’s and Solas’s in the dark future. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the loathsome form they had seen in the visions at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The one that rode the beast behind her in the future she and Dorian had prevented.

“What are you? Why are you doing this?” she demanded. 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was.”   

“Well whatever you are, I am not afraid,” Lavellan hissed through bared teeth. 

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” He almost sounded amused, but then his tone darkened to something more ominous. “Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!” If she hadn’t been terrified or in fear for her life, the elven woman may have laughed out loud at his vanity. For a creature so corrupted and monstrous, he certainly gave the impression of having one hell of an ego. Corypheus, as he had called himself, pointed at Lani with one grotesquely long and sharp-tipped finger. “You will kneel!”

“I will never kneel!” She spat, teeth bared in a pointed-toothed snarl. “You’re forcing this fight for no reason.” 

“You will resist,” he said utterly unsurprised or impressed. “You will always resist. It matters not.”

“Why are you here?” Lani growled. “What do want from us?”

“I ask for nothing because it is not in your power to give,” the hulking form sneered, pulling a stone-like orb flicking and hissing with corrupted red power from his robes. He stared down hard at her and she felt very much like a fox looking into the mouth of a dragon. “But that will not stop me. I am here for the _anchor._ The process of removing it begins _now_.” Confused, she opened her mouth to speak, but all the air was sucked from her lungs as pain shot through her. Red energy erupted from the claw-fingered hand he held toward the elf and the mark on her palm responded with violent force. Her skin burning as if on fire, muscles shaking against the strain as she screamed. Her mark, his power, and the orb all pulsed in time to one another. Each pulse sent the searing agony shooting higher up Lavellan’s arm. “It is your fault, ‘Herald’,” Corypheus said cooly over the sound of cracking energy and the elf’s gasping breaths. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived,” he said eyeing her with contempt, “but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” His eyes narrowed with hate and loathing, lip lifting in disgust. “And you used the anchor to undo my work. _The gall_.” 

_Sorry, not sorry,_ she growled in her head as he increased the pull upon her and she collapsed to her knees, unable to spare the breath to say the words aloud. He release the strange hold he had over the mark upon her palm with an angry flick of his wrist and Lani gasped, gripping the affected limb with her free hand as the tingling and burning began to subside. 

“What is this thing meant to do?” she hissed through clenched teeth

“It is meant to bring certainly where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it,” he said simply. In three quick strides he was standing over her. Before the dalish elf could react he had seized her by the forearm and hauled her into the air. She drew in a sharp breath of surprise and agony. Her body swinging in front of his face. 

In that moment, Lavellan truly appreciated the size of the creature that called himself Corypheus. If she could get a good enough swing going she might be able to kick him in the chest and cause him to drop her. _Then again, that would probably end poorly,_ she thought glance downward. So startled was she to be so suddenly hanging several feet off the ground, all her weight dangling from the screaming shoulder fractured in previous fighting, that it took her a moment to realize the Elder One was speaking once more. It was his breath in her face that drew her attention back to the conversation. It smelt of death and rot, hinted with the metallic tang of old blood. It made her stomach roll and heave.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers,” Corypheus snarled, head titling to match her sway. “For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own. To champion with it Tevinter and correct this blighted world,” he said fervently, his fist clenching in agitation. “ _Beg_ that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the gods and it was _empty_.” With that, he all but threw Lavellan against the base of the trebuchet. She groaned as her battle worn and injured form slammed hard into the sturdy wood with a heavy thud. Her head spinning with dizziness. “The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” Lani’s eyes slowly began to focus on her surroundings. Her staff was lost to her for the moment. Laying in the snow six or seven paces away. But no more than a foot from her boot was the discarded blade of some slain soldier. Her lunged for it before once more backing against the wooden struts. Corypheus was either to absorbed in his gloating or to unaware of his surrounds that he seemed to show little care that the elf had armed herself. Which was just as well she supposed. The blade wasn’t meant for him. “So be it,” the great darkspawn glowered to himself, pacing back and forth as his dragon shifted agitatedly behind him. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation- and god- it requires.” In the distance far off behind Corypheus, a flaming arrow could be seen flying over the tree line. Its small flicker of light breathing new strength into the Herald. _They’re safe,_ she thought. _They made it. They’re all safe._ A triumphant smile pulled at her lips. The dalish First bowed her head to hide the expression from the Elder One. “And _you_ ,” he said rounding on the slumped elf. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. _You_ must die.”

“You expect me to fight,” Lani said, her face lifting to his. A cocky little sneering smirk tugging at her features. “You expect them to surrender and kneel,” she said her chin indicating the direct of Haven. “We will not.” Her smile grew. Pointed canines puckering her lower lip. Inhuman pupils completely devoid of fear focusing on Corypheus. “You’re arrogance blinds you. It is good to know. But that is not why I kept you talking,” she all but cooed. “Enjoy your _victory!_ Here’s your _prize!_ ” With a wordless cry she whirled and swung the sword down upon the coiled rope beside her, severing the trebuchets cable and launching the boulder at the targeted snow capped mountain. “If I am dying, it is not today! You’ll face us when we choose!” She roared. 

The dragon bellowed. The beast and the would-be god turning toward the peak high above them as the snow capped mountain began to give way. In that moment, while they were distracted, Lavellan ran. Grabbing her staff and flinging herself into what she hoped was one of the abandoned mine shafts built in ages past that litter the area, she prayed for the best, darkness closing in around her. Her back slammed into something hard with a sickening crack, sending her into a spin as she fell. Lani was dimly aware of the sound of the dragon roaring, then the heavy beat of its wings before the black took her. 


	46. A Wolf in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bruised and battered Lavellan must make a hard choice and deal with the consequences if she hopes to reunite with the Inquisition and her friends.

Lani awoke freezing, stiff, and in so much agony she could hardly breath. From the way her right side ached she no doubt sported several cracked ribs to go along with the now severely broken shoulder. The first attempt at sitting up brought on a wave of dizziness and nausea so strong she felt she would blackout if she didn’t lay back upon the ground. When the feeling finally passed, the Herald rose gingerly until she was sitting. The world lurched, but this time she was able to remain upright. Head in her hands, she waited for the spinning to stop before trying to stand. It was a slow, tedious process and as soon as she put weight on her ankle it gave out beneath her, sending the mage sprawling to the ice slicked floor with a yell, pain searing through her leg, back, and ribcage.

Swearing angrily, the Herald formed a small orb of light and cast about on hands and knees for her wayward staff. It lay splintered and broken several yards away under a pile of rubble and snow. _Damn,_ Lavellan thought, head bowing for a moment before she continued the search of her surrounds. The pack she used for traveling had either been taken with the villagers or destroyed with the rest of Haven and thus was of no use to her at the moment. The pouches used for potions during the battle were completely empty. If she were to survive this, it would be on her own merits. At very least, she still possessed the long slender dagger she favored, having had the good sense to reclaim it between waves of red templars. _Well, I can sit here and freeze to death,_ she thought darkly resting back upon her haunches. _Or make a go of it… and likely still freeze to death._ The elf glowered into the glittering blackness of the passage ahead. _‘Likely’ is better odds than ‘will’ so…_ Lani shoved up roughly from the ice covered ground, the angry skin of her hands now the least of her problems. Her balanced wavered dangerously but held. With an effort of will that made her head pound from fatigue, she eased the swelling in her ankle enough to walk and began shuffling in the only direction available to her. 

 

_Great… Demons… Haven’t I had a rough enough day as it is?_ The dalish elf pulled in power, warping the veil into a protective barrier. Then cast out in a wide arch of electricity. The spells were more draining without her staff. Something that normally wouldn’t have bothered her, but was a crushing weight in her current state. The attack slowed the foul beasts, but did not stop them. On they came. Claws reaching, teeth sneering. As they neared, the emerald mark on the elf’s hand flared brightly causing her to cry out in surprise and clutch her wrist. 

As Lani glared at the infernal thing, a thought occurred to her. Focusing her remaining power on the anchor, she pushed outward forming a large, flickering, viridescent orb, which she promptly hurled into the midst of the demons. Immediately, the odd sensation in her arm subsided, the mark returning to its usual dull throb. The conjured orb hissed and sparked like a miniature rift, pulling the awful creatures toward it and consuming them. _Huh. Good to know,_ she sighed exhaustedly. With that she pressed on and out into the dark mountains and the whirling snow that covered them. 

At least in the cave there had been no wind. In the open, the gusts buffeted her, cutting through robes dampened by the snow that had clung to her and melted while she had been unconscious and by the blood and sweat of furious battle. One particularly strong squall caught her off guard and sent her tumbling into the white. She gasped, flailing to halt the momentum of the fall. Robes gaining another layer of heat sapping wetness.

 

Wolves howled all around. Unseen in the blinding snow. Their voices a choir echoing through the mountain pass. 

Lavellan’s limbs burned from cold; each step getting harder as the drifts grew deeper and her energy waned. Having found the long dead fires of the fleeing folk of Haven, she knew she was on the right course. Knew it deep in her bones. And she was moderately sure she was gaining on them. However, they were farther ahead than she originally thought. Than she had hoped. There was no guarantee on just how long the dalish first could continue. Not in this weather and not in her worsening condition. Parts of her were going numb. Ceasing their protesting all together. A bad sign, she knew. And what wasn’t numb was screaming at her. 

Still the wolves sang. Calling ahead to others of their kin deeper into the pass. Distant replies answering. They never revealed themselves, save in fleeting shadows, but they were there. Eyes in the dark. Huffs of steaming breath. Beckoning her. Urging her on.

If she was to stand any chance at all, Lani would have to shift. Become a wolf herself. She thought she had just enough strength left to do it and fur would provide marginally more warmth than her torn and damaged gear, giving her more time to find safety. She’d be able to smell and see better, making tracking easier as well. Faster. Still she didn’t relish the thought of the others finding out she could shift. What if she was too tired to shift back upon finding them? What would they do if a wolf trudged into their camp? A wounded one at that? If they saw her transform? With her secret revealed, how would they react? Of course, that assumed she would catch up to them at all, which was looking more and more unlikely. She may very well die out here buried in snow. They’d find the body of a wolf and assume it was just some poor creature who got lost in the storm and perished. Continuing on, never to realize they’d already found the one they searched for. They _were_ searching right? They wouldn’t just _leave_ her, would they?

Wolf or no wolf, she didn’t want to die. Not here. Not after getting this far. A shriek rang through the night as scattered bones shifted, the wolves around her replying with howls and whines of encouragement and concern. Black paws sinking into chest deep snow, she limped on. She’d deal with the others when the time came. 

 

_Creators guide me._

Ahead, canid forms danced across the path. Lavellan followed their trail, allowing them to lead her as they may. Another cooking fire. This one still warm. She sniffed at it. _Embers. Recent. I’m close._ Thoughts blurring from exhaustion. Sight dimmed by frost that clung to lashes. _I have to be close._ Lungs burning. Each breath a rattling shudder. Unsteady paws sank into uneven snow. How long had she been walking? Hours? Days? Had the sun ever risen? Had it set? Did it matter? 

The white wolf stumbled. Fell. Chest scraping against a hidden rock. Got back up. Stumbled again. Paw after bloody paw. Worn pads long since cracked from cold and rough terrain and no strength to spare to warm them. All around the wolves sang. The song a comfort in the otherwise silent night. _At least, I am not alone._

 

Ahead, distant light. Fires. A camp. Faint voices carried on the wind. A dark shape running toward her through the snow, a shadow illuminated from behind. _I made it,_ Lavellan thought as she collapsed. Her body utterly spent; giving out even as she tried to force it back to elven form. She could no longer feel her hands. Her feet. Her face. Anything. 

Strong arms enfolded her. Pulling her out of the snow. The side of her face pressed against something both rough and soft. There was the scent of moss, summer cedars, winter pines, and old books. She could hear the beating of a heart against her ear. The press of something atop her head. 

“Stay with me, lethallan,” a gentle voice whispered against her hair. “I have you now. Hold on.” Warmth flooded into her from arms that held her tight. One wrapped around her back, hand pressed against her flank. The other caressed the side of her face; thumb resting just before her ear, fingers curling around the back of her neck beneath the curtain of hair that had long ago come undone, holding her to the source of the rhythmic pulse. “Over here! Seeker! Commander! The Herald is here!” She felt the vibration of the voice as it called out. 

Solas sat in the snow, the still form of Lavellan cradled against him as he waited for the others to catch up. He’d drawn her from the white as best he could. Nesting her among his limbs. Using his body heat and magic to stave of the biting wind. She did not shiver against him. A sign he found troubling. A thin trickle of scarlet ran from the corner of her nose and across her blue lips. Shallow breaths rasped unnaturally. Her robes were soaked, which hampered matters, though he dare not remove them until they were safe at camp with a blazing fire to warm her. The dalish woman made a quiet sound against him. 

“Solas?”

“Hush,” he smoothed, thumb absently stroking her soft if freezing skin, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. “Save your strength. You are safe now.” She stilled, sinking into him, melting into the warmth he provided. A wolf let out quiet whimper nearby. Clear blue eyes searched the shadows, settling on the glimmer of canid eye-shine. “Ma serannas, my friend,” the elvhen man said bare above a whisper. Lavellan began to shiver as she warmed, her body shifting, burrowing more deeply into his grasp. Solas’s arms tightened around her instinctively. “Ma serannas.” The wolf let out a single huffed breath of whine and turned, disappearing from view altogether. 

“Herald!” Distant voices drew closer. Winded. Urgent. “Solas, is she alright?”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed. “Did you see her change from that wolf, Seeker? Did you know she could do that?”

“No. But we are lucky she can,” Cassandra said, still gasping for breath. “I fear she would not have made it this far otherwise.”

“Her hair… it’s… and her hands-“

“We have to get to camp. Quickly. Or we may yet loose her,” Solas said cutting him off abruptly, his cheek lifting from half-shifted elf’s still snow white tresses. “Commander, your cloak.” There was the sound rattling armor as Cullen removed the heavy feathered article. “If you carry her I can warm you both. It will be faster that way.” 

The Herald felt the warmth giving arms releasing, thicker ones taking their place, lifting her and drawing her away from the comforting heartbeat. She protested weakly even as weighty fabric was thrown over her and tucked around. 

“Lani?” 

“Fenria,” she breathed hoarsely.

“What?”

“My name isn’t Lani. It’s Fenria.” With that she gave in entirely to the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan= familiar greeting meaning roughly 'kin'  
> Ma serannas= my thanks or thank you


	47. Secrets and Hidden Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas begins to realizes his feelings for Lavellan run deeper than he thought. The others grow restless for answers while the Herald sleeps and turn to the fade-walker in the hopes he can shed light on her recent revelations.

Solas knelt beside the cot. One hand rested on the side of the unconscious woman’s face. The other on the too pale skin of the blanket buried chest- feeling it rise and fall beneath his touch. Bright white light radiated from his palms, the mark of healing magic.

Cassandra had helped him remove the Herald’s soaked robes, which were now drying by the nearby fire, and bundle her in all the spare blankets they could find. The residents of Haven had been more than eager to help in that regard. Willing go a little colder that night so the Herald of Andraste might be saved.

Lavellan was still marked much as her wolf form had been. Her skin was lighter than usual- pearly white save for the black trailing up her forearms and shins, darkening the tips of her ears. She did not bare the ebony markings upon her face as the wolf had, though her vallaslin was distinctly darker. Solas would have expect the tattoo to be somewhat more vividly green given her pallor, instead it was near onyx.

As his power worked, it came across a small flicker of a spell half complete. The magic was uniquely hers, but familiar. It was not something he had seen since walking in this world nor something he had expected to find. _So I was correct then,_ he thought, eyebrows twitching upward in mild surprise. _She is not just an ordinary shapeshifter, but truly wolven._ The elvhen man had suspected as much that morning in the tent, but had made no move to discuss it further as it was clearly a topic of some discomfort to the Herald. _It is extraordinary such magic survived the Veil! I thought it all but lost! You never cease to surprise me, lethallan,_ he smiled. Though Solas had little enough to spare, he gave the spark access to his mana and felt it burst like a drop of rain upon a summer leaf. Even as he watched elongated canines retreated, sharp points becoming gentler, dark markings fading. _Much better._

_Fenria._ The name felt foreign to him for he had come to know her as Lani, but still, it fit. Felt right in a way ‘Lani’ never had. _It certainly suits you, da’fen,_ he mused. _Still. I wonder why you would guard this part of yourself so fiercely._ Solas shook his head to dispel the thought. He had his own reasons for hiding aspects of himself, did he not? It was foolish to think she could be so easily read. Perhaps in time she would reveal her reasoning, but for now he was simply content that she was alive.

It surprised him just how much of a relief that truly was. To the fledgling Inquisition she was valuable, of course. And he may yet have need of her and the stolen power that marred her palm. But more personally than that. Solas had to come to think of her as a friend. A close one even. Or at least closer than he’d had in many years. Even so, he had feared the loss of her more deeply than he’d anticipated. Something to occupy his thoughts later. For now, he needed to focus on healing her wounds and staving off the cold.

The elvhen man sat at Fenria’s head allowing his magic to flow through her. Warming. Healing. Strengthening. Soon color returned to her skin. Cheeks and nose flushing pink. Blue lips turning purple then dusky rose. He found the sprain in her ankle. Swelling already eased, it was not difficult to heal further. Her ribs were fractured and splinter in a several place and had begun to irritate on the lining of her lung. No doubt the cause of her struggled breathing and the blood in her airway. One shoulder blade was badly shattered and would take time to repair. While the skin of her feet was cracked in places, her hands suffered worse for the burns they had born previously. If not healed readily, infection was possible. However, as heavily bruised and scraped as she was, her most immediate threats were hypothermia and exhaustion. He could reverse the one and sleep would help the other. With her breathing eased, the fractures could be dealt with in time.

“You care for her.” Solas jumped and looked up. He’d been so focused on his task that he had grown quite unaware of those around him. “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

“It is nothing,” he said with a soft smile as the Mother Giselle seated herself beside the two elves. “I care for her as all who have traveled with her do. If I were not siting here it is just as likely that Dorian or Vivienne would be in my place.” Though he was perhaps being overly charitable on that last part. The Herald and the Enchantress seemed to bare little love for one another. Little tolerance in fact.

“Ah, but they are not,” the cleric said sagely. “Nor did they so eagerly go with the Lady Seeker and our Commander to search for her.” That was not entirely true. Dorian had been eager enough, but given his poor tracking skills he remained behind to see to other tasks.

“There were many here who were and are in great need of healing. It would have been foolish for all of us to go,” the elf replied. “Given my knowledge of the natural world from my time spent alone it seemed I was the best choice to accompany them.” Mother Giselle nodded, but her dark eyes sparkled.

“I see.” Her expression knowing and utterly unconvinced. Solas returned to his dutiful study of Lavellan’s face, pretending to once more focus on the task of healing her. “Let me simply say then, that were your roles reversed, our Herald would likely be just as stubbornly guarding you as you are her.” The tips of Solas’s ears reddened slightly, a fact he hoped was hidden by the firelight, but he said nothing. “Something to consider,” the Cleric hummed before her tone shifted to one of quiet care. “However, it is not why I came to speak to you. You have been working over her for hours. You yourself are battle worn and barely healed. And you have neither slept, nor eaten since Haven. I am concerned for you.”

One elderly hand came to rest on his shoulder. Solas did not mind. While they had not shared many conversations, the few they had showed her to be a kind and insightful woman who cared a great deal for the people. The cleric reminded him vaguely of someone he knew in ages past. And neither his ears or his studies of the Fade had ever seemed to give her pause or affect how she spoke to him. A fact of no little value.

“I assure you, Revered Mother, I am quite all right.” Her gentle smile deepened, something in it every so slight chiding.

“You have weathered a long day and there will be many more ahead. You are spent even if you refuse to admit it. Go. Rest. I will watch over her. Perhaps you will find something to aid us in your dreams.” Solas opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with a curt nod. She was right. He was sore from battle and partially healed wounds of his own, exhausted from exertion- magically, mentally, and physically, and apparently slipping if Mother Giselle had noticed his affection for their Herald. He nodded and made to rise- gently removing his hand from the covers as not to wake the sleeping Herald. The elven woman let out a quiet complaint as he withdrew, face titling toward where his palm had been. His name the barest whisper on her lips. Something within the ancient elf stirred. An old, deep hunger long ago forced aside making its presence known after so much time. A glance at Mother Giselle revealed the small, warm smile gracing her lips as she gazed upon the sleeping woman, but she made no comment. “Go, child. I will be here,” she said without looking up from her ward. With that, Solas took up his staff and slipped deeper in the Inquisition’s makeshift camp.

 

He did not get far.

“Solas!” Cassandra called, waving him over. She was standing with the advisors as well as Dorian, Vivienne, and Varric in a fire-lit clearing behind several tents and surrounded by crated supplies. The fade-walker became distinctly aware of just how tired he truly was. If the company and their facial expressions were any indication, this was going to be neither a particularly quick nor pleasant chat. It was also clearly one they did not want overheard. He sighed, rubbed at his brows, mumbled an oath under his breath, and walked over. “Solas, what do you know of the shapeshifting the Herald used?” Cassandra demanded as he approached. “Did you know that she could do so? Why would she hide such a thing?”

“Do you assume I am some sort of mind reader, Seeker?” He asked as he came to stop and leaned heavily upon his staff, eyes narrowing in reaction to the warrior’s abrasive tone. “Because I too am an elf and a mage I should know all that goes on in the Herald’s head?” He hadn’t meant his words to be as short as they sounded. Clearly his annoyance and fatigue were getting to him. Cassandra made to start again but was cut off by Vivienne.

“My dear apostate, we were simply hoping you may know more about the magic she employed. It does not seem like other shapeshifting I have studied in the Circle and thus is foreign to me.” Those words must have cost her something for the poisoned silverite edge they bared. _The former Imperial Enchanter could due with being reminded she is not the end all of learned arcane scholars,_ Solas thought sourly. _How it must burn her to think there is magic I, an apostate, understand that she does not._ He almost wanted to laugh out loud at that thought. What she would do if she knew all that he was…

“Indeed,” said Dorian, cutting to to the elf’s stream of thought. “Even in Tevinter, I can not think of anything similar except perhaps a vague reference or two from our prehistory.”

“I traveled with a shapeshifter once,” came Leliana’s pensive voice from where she leaned quietly against the stacked crates that served as the temporary war table. “But she was always either beast or woman. Never in-between. Never half-shifted as the Cullen and Cassandra describe when you came across the Herald in the pass or as we witnessed upon your return with her.”

“Unknown power of such a kind could be dangerous,” Vivienne insisted. “We are right to question.”

“Yes, exactly. We need to know if she is dangerous. If we should be concerned. Especially given that she lied to us about her name as well. What else could she be hiding?” Cassandra’s voice was sharp, all Seeker. It angered Solas. After all this time and sacrifice, could these people so easily be turn against one who had given so much for them? One who would call several of them ‘friend’? Weren’t there rather more important matters to attend to? Solas pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard. Swallowing the snarl that threatened to rise in his throat. His temper was flaring and it would not help this situation.

“Easy now, Seeker,” said Varric soothingly. “Let the man speak. I know levelheadedness isn’t your strong suit, but I doubt Vixen is going to get up and go on a murderous spree right this second.” In that moment, the elvhen man appreciated the dwarf more than at any other point in their friendship to date.

“To answer a few of your questions,” Solas said, voice carefully schooled. “Yes, I did know she possessed the ability. Yes, I have heard of this before. No, I do not believe she is a threat to the Inquisition or any of its people. And no, I was not aware that her name was anything other than Lani Lavellan.” Several voices rose at once. Dorian immediately dropping into mumblings about magical theory. Cullen and Vivienne demanding to know how he could be so certain the Herald was of no threat. Josephine wondering how this will affect the peoples’ view of the Inquisition and of the Herald. Varric making offhand assurances that it’s probably nothing to worry about. And Cassandra…

“So you knew about this and did nothing with that information?” The Seeker’s voice was edged with anger. “Why?”

While their reactions were perhaps unsurprising, they were disheartening. Demonstrating a naivety of the arcane to such a severity as to be crippling. It was a stark reminder of how much the world had change. While the heavens remained scarred and an ancient corrupted magister strove for godhood, these people fixated on whether an elf who could transform into a wolf was a threat to their organization. An elf who had faithfully done all and more asked of her by said organization. He didn’t know which urge was stronger. The one to laugh. Or the one to scream.

“Simply? Because she asked me not to and I saw no reason to not to do as she requested,” Solas said coolly, meeting the warriors heated gaze with an icy one of his own. “It was of great importance to her that you not find out for reasons I do not understand. But after seeing how quickly you all _turn_ on her after she has just _selflessly saved all of our lives at great personal risk_ , I do not blame her for her deception as clearly she was right to distrust you!”

He had not meant to yell, to lose his temper so completely that the air around him dropped several degrees and frost rippled along the length of the staff he clutched in bloodless knuckles. Mother Giselle had been right about his state if he was letting his emotions flow so easily and unchecked. His words bit deeply, yet he could not bring himself to feel the slightest bit of remorse. Cullen, Josephine, and Dorian all looked away, faces reddening with shame. Leliana’s expression became a hard neutral mask. Vivienne’s shone with reserved defiance. Cassandra continued to glare, but he did not yield. She broke the gaze first, eyes turning to the prone form of the dalish woman behind him, face softening.

“I… I am sorry.” The Seeker took a deep steadying breath before looking away from the fallen Herald. “You are right, Solas. It was wrong of me to jump to such conclusions,” she sighed. “It worries me that we did not know this about her. We might have used her skills before now.”

“Quite right, my dear,” Vivienne agreed. “These are relatively unknown magics. We are wise to be wary and to seek what value they may hold.”

“Yes, but she did just save us all from being hacked to death by mutated templars or crisped and eaten by a giant darkspawn’s possibly archdemon pet,” countered Dorian. “We can hardly say she is the selfish sort.”

“I fear we have let our worries get the better of us,” Cullen sighed apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “And at the expense of one of our own. Maker preserve us.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Josephine. Leliana turned to the tall elf.

“Solas, you say you have seen this magic before?” He nodded, glad that they had finally gotten control of themselves- at least for now. Still his head was starting to throb. His stomach hollow with hunger.

“Allow me find something to eat and I will tell you all that I know,” he breathed. They agreed. Soon he had gone and returned with a bowl of rough broth and bit of dry bread, seating himself in the fire’s warm glow to dine. The moment’s reprieve giving him time to order his thoughts and leash his own emotions. The meal was simple, but served adequately. Hunger staved off, he began. “As far as I am aware, what I witnessed before and what you saw in the mountain pass wasn’t shapeshifting as modern mages would know it. As Leliana said, those that shape shift in that fashion are either man or beast. They cannot, say, change only one aspect of themselves. Can’t alter just their vision or hearing. Can’t grow wings or fur. It is all or nothing. Correct?” he offered to the other mages in the group.

“As I would understand it, yes,” said Dorian from where he leaned casually against a tent pole. Vivienne simple stared on from her position under the fabric eaves overhanging part of the clearing. Solas took her silence as affirmation.

“They also possess the ability to learn multiple forms if they so choose.” Again, the mages agreed. “That is not so with Fenria- and I _do_ believe that to be her name. While healing her, I came across a fragment of the spell she used to create the shift. Her body and mind were too weak with exhaustion to complete the working herself, which is why she remained marked as the wolf even in elven form. That is what you all saw when we arrived with her. A spell left half finished.” The few gathered nodded mutely in contemplation and understanding. “I was able to study the fragment closely, feed it my strength, and in so doing complete the transition.” He paused for a moment to order his thoughts. “The magic she possesses is incredibly old. From what I have been able to piece together from memories in the Fade, it traces all the way back to the time of Arlathan.”

“Ancient elvhen magic,” said Dorian twirling the curl of his mustache thoughtfully. “That would explain why none of us knew of it. Likely lost centuries ago after… well never mind.”

“It was rare even in those times, if the spirits are to be believed,” Solas continued with a small sad smile. “And exceedingly so today. It is possible she is one of only a few in the last several generations. Given the principles of magic as they exist in today’s world, the ability is likely something that was inherent to her from a young age rather than a skill learned later in life. While the her range of beast is limited to the wolf, her control of its form is absolute.”

“Meaning?” asked Cullen, his weight shifting as his head titled to the side in question. Solas open his mouth to speak, but Dorian cut in, raising a hand to pause the elf before he could begin.

“Wait. Let me see if I have it,” he said pensively. “Meaning she could give herself the sight of the wolf, the hearing, the tracking capabilities without ever needing to transform entirely.” The tall apostate nodded. “Fascinating,” the tevinter mage breathed. “Utterly fascinating.”

“Seeker, I believe the Herald _has_ been using her hidden skills to help the Inquisition all long,” Solas said turning to Cassandra who was seated to the left of the fire before him. The warrior’s eyes were heavily shadowed in thought as she worked over the possibilities, the firelight ghosting across her features.

“Vixen does have an uncanny knack for spotting traps,” Varric offered leaning closer to the flames to warm his hands.

“That is true,” Cassandra reflected. “And on a number of missions the Herald was able to alert us to enemies long before I would have noticed them. Her skills far beyond what I would’ve expected even for an experienced rogue.”

“Precisely,” Solas sighed. A migraine was definitely starting to move in. The back of his skull beginning to pound. He massaged at the spot with one hand as he spoke. “For whatever reason, however, she has not felt comfortable revealing the extent of her power to us. I believe had she not been at death’s door we would not know still.”

“A troubling thought,” said Vivienne, her face pulled into reserved distaste. She did not like knowing there were magics in her midst she was not aware of. Especially ones she had not studied, let alone heard of. It made her uneasy to say the least.

“Desperate times. Desperate measures,” Dorian shrugged grimly. “If she hadn’t grown herself that lustrous fur coat, she’d likely be an elf-icle somewhere in the mountain pass and we’d be short one Herald.”

“It was a huge risk,” Cullen brooded, brows creased with concern, arms folding over his chest. “I would not have thought it was her if she hadn’t shifted back at the last moment. If _you_ hadn’t alerted us. I’d have just seen a dying wolf in the snow. A large, oddly patterned one perhaps,” he shrugged, “but a wolf all the same. I may…. I may have put it out of its misery…” The commander’s words hung heavily in the air. No doubt a few of them felt they would have done the same in the name of mercy.

“So what do we do now?” asked Josephine. “Do we confront her about this or simply leave it as it is?”

“She is no different now than she was before Haven, Ambassador Montilyet,” replied Solas. “All she has done is shown the use of a rare and unique magic that ultimately only affects her and that she has already employed to aid in the Inquisition’s purpose. I see no reason to treat her in anyway different than we had before. If we give her space perhaps she will tell us the reasoning for her deception in her own time.”

“It… is a fair assessment,” agreed the Ambassador. “We owe her that much at least. The people already know she is a mage. This is simply another skill the Herald has used to help our cause.”

“With Corypheus and his dragon on the loose and an army of red templars at his call, I imagine the people will be glad for any advantage they can get,” Leliana offered.

“He has a dragon. We have wolf,” Cullen said doubtfully.

“True. It may not seem like much at the moment,” the spymaster agreed, “but Lavellan has proved to be quite the formidable woman. She has exceeded all of our expectations and out maneuvered a would-be god. Three times now. Perhaps this is simply another reason Andraste chose her.”

“Or so the people may believe,” Josephine said, her face brightening. Leliana nodded.

“It still troubles me that she would not trust us.”

“To be fair, Cassandra, her first experiences with us were a dark cell and an interrogation,” the red-haired rogue said with a grim shadow of a laugh. “Followed immediately by being marched up the side of a mountain more or less at sword point.”

“Not the most endearing of introductions,” Varric grumbled, eyeing the Seeker dubiously. “I would know.”

“You may have a point,” acknowledged the warrior, letting the dwarf’s jab slide. “But there has been much time since then.”

“Indeed, my dear,” Vivienne nodded, her lips pursing. “First impressions aside, one would think the Herald would have found such a skill worth mentioning.”

“Vixen has had plenty enough on her plate as it is,” Varric retorted. “So she didn’t tell us everything. Who cares. What’s important is she used her skills to help us even if she preferred to keep their existence to herself. She’s been there, without fail, whenever and whatever you’ve asked of her. Everything else is just details,” he said dismissively. “And with all the rifts, demons, time travel, and avalanches, when exactly _was_ there ‘time,’ Seeker?”

“A rousing chat of ‘hey ladies and gents, I can turn into an apex predator at will using magic all but one of you has never heard of before, let alone seen’ seems the sort of thing one would prefer to prepare for, yes?” Dorian agreed. “I can just imagine how well she thought _that_ conversation would go over. Likely thought you’d kill her on the spot or after you no longer needed the mark. Perhaps even turn her tranquil as you lot in the South are so fond of doing.” The mage grimaced, a shiver running down his spine. “Charming thought, that. Enough to give me nightmares.”

“The commander _is_ an ex-templar after all,” Solas agreed, dipping his head toward Cullen, who snorted, but nodded in acquiescence. “And you, a Seeker of Truth.” He gestured at the ramshackle camp around them. “Is she not a _Dalish_ elven apostate? And are we not surrounded by those loyal to the Chantry? Was she truly wrong to be cautious?” Cassandra raised her hands in a defeated gesture, conceding their points.

“Very well,” Cullen said straightening. “Our Herald struck down our enemies for the time being, giving us the chance to flee, and somehow managed to escape with her life. That will just have to be enough.”

“For now,” Cassandra added.

“That is all that I ask, Seeker,” breathed Solas as he rose, leaning his weight against his worn staff.

“I dare say we have rather more pressing concerns, at any rate,” pointed out the Commander.

“Such as what the Inquisition will do now? Where will we go?” sighed Josephine.

“And who this Elder One is and how can we stop him?” Leliana added.

Talk turned to what the future would hold, the Inquisition’s role in it, and how to achieve those aims. Already the bickering was beginning anew. Solas’s temples throbbed, adding to the ache just above his neck.

“Go rest, Solas. You look more awful than usual,” said Dorian as he walked past to places unknown, though given his direction it was likely the tevinter mage was headed over to take a turn mending the Herald. Or perhaps simple to sit with her. Solas nodded mutely, letting the semi-friendly comment pass unchallenged. He turned from the clearing and made his own way toward the tent he had been assigned.

Finally alone and surrounded by wind-blocking canvas, he collapsed.

Solas could hear the groans of the injured and dying. The fearful mutterings of refugees and soldiers alike. This was his fault. All of it. How could he have been so blind, so foolish to entrust his orb to that blighted magister? He did not like to think what might happen if the Orbs origins were discovered. If _he_ was discovered.

How the Elder One hadn’t died unlocking his orb, he did not know. How Fenria had managed to escape not only the Temple of Sacred Ashes with her life, but Haven as well, he also did not know. It seemed the dalish woman had an unnatural gift for surviving. A fact he was distinctly glad for. The Inquisition would likely need the anchor and thus Fenria in the coming struggle. The Breach may be sealed, but the Veil was still in tatters. Rifts no doubt ripping open all across Thedas. And there was always the chance Corypheus would try again.

Solas’s impression of Fenria had grown, shifted. Again and again she had surprised him, exceeding all he thought he knew. Where once he had seen her as little more than a child stumbling in the dark and easily led, now he saw a warrior, a fighter, someone with the strength, intellect, and compassion to set things right. Perhaps in more ways than any of them could yet see.

Mere moments after his head settled upon the pillow, the elf was asleep. His muddled thoughts swallowed by the Fade as his body surrendered to soreness and exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan= cousin, kin, familiar greeting/name  
> da'fen= little wolf


	48. A Song of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that cut scene that eats basically everything from not dying in the snow until Skyhold? Yeah this is part of that, plus stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to get to through the whole "becoming the Inquisitor" thing by the end of the week. Life is about to happen to me for a while and I want to leave off at a good spot until I can get back to this. Don't worry! I'll be back! I even have fade-tongue particularly fleshed out (insert girlish squeal of excitement). Just have to take a break for a while. Stay tuned for one more chapter later this week.
> 
> Update: A Song of Hope and The Space Between are now two separate chapters.

“What would you have me tell them?” Cullen was shouting. “This isn’t what we asked them to do.”

“We cannot simply ignore this,” Cassandra retorted. “We must find a way.”

“And who put you in charge?” He spat. “We need a consensus or we have nothing.”

“Please! We must use reason,” came Josephine’s anxious plea. “Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled.”

“It can’t come from no where!” The ex-templar shot back.

“She didn’t say it could,” Leliana said hotly, stepping between them. 

“Enough!” Cassandra roared. “This is getting us no where!”

“Well we’re agreed on that much,” the Commander snarked. 

Across the clearing surrounding the main fire, Lavellan sat up slowly, a low groan escaping her throat. Every bit of her ached and burned. Muscles tight and sore from abuse and misuse. One arm was bound in a sling. The broken bones of the shoulder set but not yet mended. Her head gave her no end of grief, the world lilting drunkenly. It felt as though a giant were trying to crush her skull with one massive hand, vision blurred and unsteady for several moments before the huddle masses of people and tents came into focus. Even the dim firelight stabbed uncaringly at her eyes. The shouting was not helping matters. 

Wrapped in several layers of thin blankets and near enough to the blazing fire to feel its warmth, she relished in the comfortable heat before realizing she was clad in little more than her under garments. At least the healers had seen fit to give her a tunic before binding her arm. Dressing would have been difficult otherwise. Clutching the covers to her chest, Fenria cast about for her clothes. Dried and fire-heated robes, boots, gloves, and legging were folded and stacked neatly at the foot of the cot. Sitting up all the way, she reached for the leggings first. Eyes lingering in a glower on the yelling group, mere shadows on the far side of the flames.

“Shhh. You need to rest,” said Mother Giselle, leaning forward in the seat where she kept quiet vigil to laying a hand of the elven woman’s uninjured shoulder. 

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Lavellan said in annoyance, gesturing across the way with her chin as she tugged on the pants. 

“They have that luxury thanks to you,” the Cleric smiled gently. “The enemy could not follow. And with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.” The elf snorted at that.

“Truer words are rarely spoken. Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?” she asked, tightening a boot as best she could one handed. 

“We are not sure where _we_ are,” the Revered Mother replied, sliding forward to help when it was clear the Herald would not lay back on the cot to rest. “Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no signed of him. That or you are believed dead.” The cleric motioned for her other leg and Fenria held it out. She felt mildly embarrassed to have someone tie her laces so, but at the moment there was little choice. “Or without Haven we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack. I can not claim to know the mind of that creature. Only his effect on us.”

“If that thing is still out there, we need to move,” Lavellan said reaching for her robes.

“They aren’t certain where. And there are other questions.”

“Well the only thing yelling gets us is a headache,” the dalish elf sighed. “Another headache.”

“They know,” the Cleric said, the hint of a smile carried in the words. “But our situation… _your_ situation… is complicated.”

“How so?” The Herald paused in securing her belt to look up at the Revered Mother. Her brow creased with confusion, concern, and curiosity. She knew her shapeshifting must have come as a surprise, but surely it was a minor thing to be concerned with when there was army after them. 

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed,” the elder woman explained. Fenria’s breath caught. She looked down, cheeks flushing in shame. She shouldn’t have hidden the fact she was wolven, or should have kept the secret longer. One or the other. It was as she feared it would be. Their faith in her shaken by her deception. “We saw our defender stand. And fall. And now we have seen her return,” Mother Giselle said, her fingers pressing gently under the elf’s chin, tilting the Herald’s face up to her’s. There was no accusation in the cleric’s tone, only compassion, as if she suspected the elf’s fears and sought to ease them. “The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous _your_ actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained.” Fenria was taken mildly aback by that. The Revered Mother gave her another gentle, if sad, smile. “That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What we, perhaps, must come to believe?”  

“I escaped the avalanche. Barely perhaps. But I didn’t die,” Lavellan said with a little shake of her head. It was a action she immediately regretted as the world began to spin around her.

“Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the Veil,” the Cleric conceded. “But the people know what they saw. Or perhaps what they _needed_ to see. The Maker works both in the moment and how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“You saw Corypheus,” Fenria said, her face cradled in her free hand as she willed down a wave of nausea her spinning vision inspired. “What do you think of his claims of assaulting the heavens?”

“Scripture says magisters, Tevinter servants of false Old Gods, entered the Fade to reach the golden city. Seat of the Maker. For their crime, they were cast out as darkspawn. Their hubris is why we suffer blight,” the Cleric explained, handing the elf a cup of water, which was gratefully accepted and sipped at. “And why the Maker turned from us.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “If such is the claim of this Corypheus, he is a monster beyond imagining. All mankind continues to suffer for that sin.” 

“He said he found only corruption and emptiness,” the Herald muttered, passing back the now empty mug. “Nothing golden.”

“If he entered that place, it has changed him without and within. The living are not meant to make that journey,” the elderly woman replied, her voice shadowed. “Perhaps these are lies he must tell himself rather than accept that he earned the scorn of the Maker.” Her tone quieted, becoming momentarily introspective. “I know _I_ could not bare such.” The old Chantry cleric met the dalish elf’s eyes. “If even a _shred_ of Corypheus’s tale is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.” It seemed the more Fenria wished to be rid of her supposed Divine Connection, the more stubbornly it clung. 

  “Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters,” she replied exhaustedly, a great weight settling upon her shoulders. “Whatever the rest or you say, _I_ felt no divine aid at the Conclave _or_ Haven.” She rubbed at her face, trying to dispel the cloud that threatened to take hold of her. The dread, the doubt, the fear. “And lies or not, Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.” 

Lavellan rose slowly to her feet. Frustration, agitation, and nervous hopelessness made it impossible for her to rest any longer. She had to _do_ something. Anything. Her body screamed in protest and she was nearly forced to sit once more. Instead, she gritted her teeth and trudged forward, using the sturdy poles of the healers’ tent for support. _The struggle ahead seems to be mine,_ she thought, lost in her melancholy. _Gods I wish Deshanna was here. Or Ellana. What I would give to see them again._

There were so many wounded. Laying on cots, on pads of the ground, under tents and in the open. Their moans and groans of pain grating on the elf’s mind. Mages and healers moved among them, helping those they could, easing the suffering of those they could not. _So many,_ she thought in sicken shock. _Too many._

The Herald leaned heavily against a sturdy support pillar to catch her breath. Face downcast as she stared unseeing into the fire before her. It seemed so long ago she had been listening to the villagers of Haven dance and sing in joy. So long ago she had closed the Breach. It felt odd, eery even, that it had only been a few days at most. The Breach had seemed so terrifying, so impossible, but now Lavellan would give almost anything for it to be their only concern. How could they possibly defeat Corypheus? How could she? He had slapped away her spell as though it had been nothing but a bothersome fly. And there was no doubt in her mind he would come for her, for the anchor, for the supposed insult she had paid him. He would not believe her dead until her cold lifeless body lay at his feet and until then, the people of Thedas would suffer his wrath. But if she failed, if she didn’t stop him, he would destroy everything. All would come to ruin. _I am not strong enough for this,_ she thought darkly, free hand pinching the bridge of her nose as the branches upon her brow knit together. _Maker, Creators, anyone… I am not strong enough for this. If the Dread Wolf of legend himself offered aid, I would take it in a heart beat. Price be damned. I can’t…_ we can’t _do this on our own._

From somewhere behind and to one side of the elf, Mother Giselle’s voice rose in song. “Shadows fall. And hope has fled. Steal your heart. The dawn will come.” The hymn started out soft and low, but grew as the woman walked toward the center campfire. Her quiet grace and gentle smile turning the heads of those she passed, lifting their downcast gazes. “The night is long. And the path is dark. Look to the sky. For one day soon, the dawn will come…” 

Leliana’s head rose from her dark contemplations. The faintest of smiles upon her lips as she too added her voice to that of the cleric’s. The notes high and clear to Mother Giselle’s smooth rumble. All around the camp, voices joined the chorus. The voices of the faithful. The voices of the downtrodden, but not defeated. The sound becoming stronger, more defiant, with each breath. Even Cullen added his voice to the mix. Deep and rich and thrumming with steady quiet belief. 

Lavellan straightened where she leaned, grimacing against the discomfort the motion provoked. She had not heard this song since childhood. Since before the dalish. Since before the fire and the running. Since before the loss of her first home and her family. In her mind’s ear, she heard her mother’s voice humming along. Eyes closed, she could picture the woman she had so grown to resemble sitting by the small hearth of their home in Starkhaven with her brother, singing as they made dinner. She could almost smell the old musty house. The cooking herbs. Hear her father’s laugh, Varavin’s bright giggle as the older man lifted and spun the little boy. While the dalish woman did not join in the hymn of the people, she listened. The warmth of it filling her, steadying her. Shore up what doubt and fear had eroded. 

Solas heard the song begin from where he sat pensively at the end of tents studying the mountains and ordering his thoughts. Something about the peoples steadfast defiance in the face of seemly insurmountable odds called to him, pulled him. He rose and wandered back toward the camp, leaning causally on his staff at the edge of the clearing as he listened to the voices rise and fall. The people had gathered around the central fire. Those that could anyway. Many turned to face the bruised and battered elven woman who stood awash in light of the flames. Some knelt before her in deep signs of respect, others bowed or smiled warmly at her. While Fenria looked somewhat shocked by this and more than a little unnerved, hope bloomed within her features. Hope bloomed in all of them. Starting as small glitters that grew and swell, spreading like the first warm breeze of spring. Solas’s head tilted as he watched. As he listened. As he _saw._

“The night is long. And the path is dark. Look to the sky. For one day soon, the dawn will come.” The last notes hung in the air, vibrating it with their power. A glow seeming to have settled over the whole of the camp. In that moment, as he stared at the fierce resolve of those around him, Solas made up his mind. 

“Faith may have yet to find you. But it has already found them,” Mother Giselle said to Lavellan as she passed the elf on her the way back to her post among the wounded, giving the Herald a warm smile. “An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.” She squeezed the elf’s arm reassuringly and walked away to tend to the injured and dying. The elven woman looked after her for a moment, lips purse in thought as she mulled over what the Cleric had said. She hardly noticed Solas until he was standing right beside her. 

“A word,” he said quietly, then turned on his heel and headed off toward the edge of camp. Lavellan followed without question, albeit more slowly. 

Ahead, the tall elven man came to a stop by a raised fire brazer. With a subtle roll of his wrist, it came to life. Blue flames licking the air and casting a gentle glow about them. Solas waved his hand in front of the magic fire as if to feel its warmth and waited for at the Herald to catch up. Noticing her unsteady movements, he smiled sadly and offered her his staff. She accepted gratefully, leaning her weight against it.

“Thanks.”

“It is nothing.”

“I’m starting to wish I’d taken Mother Giselle’s advice,” Lavellan said between breaths. “Remaining vertical is _a lot_ more difficult than I anticipated.” 

“You are lucky to be alive,” he smirked, though concerned touched his eyes. “I am surprised to see you standing at all.”

“I’ve always been a stubborn one,” she shrugged, wincing immediately. “I am taken to understand _you_ had a lot to do with my continued existence. Thank you.” She met his eyes. “For saving me. Again.” He bowed his head to her politely.

“You are welcome. It seemed the least I could do. I _would_ suggest you not make a habit of it, but it would seem that advice has come too late.” Fenria laughed at that, her labored breathing slowly returning to its usual rate, her back straightening. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he smiled, hands clasping behind his back. Fenria made a note of the fact he had said ‘our people’ not ‘your’ and it warmed her, though she made no comment of it. “The faith is hard won, Lethallan. Worthy of pride.” Solas dipped his head to her in a slight bow before his features became distant, falling as he stared thoughtfully at the dancing flames. “Save one detail… The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is _ours_.” Fenria drew in a sharp startled breath. 

“As if things weren’t complicated enough,” she sighed. Solas nodded slowly. 

“Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave.” He looked up at her, brow furrowing with conviction. “We must find out how he survived. And we must prepare for _their_ ,” his chin motioned toward the camp, “reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

“Even if we defeat him,” Lavellan glowered in all too real understanding, “eventually they’ll find a way to blame elves,”

“I suspect you are correct,” Solas said solemnly. “It is unfortunate. But we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies.”

“Alright,” Lavellan sighed, rubbing her brows and taking a deep breath to steady her thoughts. “What it is and how do you know about it?”

“Such things were foci,” Solas explained. “Said to channel power from our gods.”

“So our gods were real then?” the Herald asked, head tilting curiously to one side as the wind tugged at the sleeve made useless by her bandaged arm. 

“In a manner of speaking, though that is perhaps a discussion for another time.” Fenria nodded.

“I’m listening.”

“Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon.” _In this case,_ he thought darkly, _me._ “All that remains are references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the Fade,” he said aloud, voice distant. “Echoes of a dead empire.” He turned to her more completely, meeting her weary eyed gaze. Solas doubt he looked much better, all things considered. “But however Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven. And with it he threatens the very heart of human faith.” The elven woman’s jaw clenched, face falling, postured shifting, slumping more heavily against the borrowed staff. Thought after thought after hopeless desperate fear flashed through her mind. Hadn’t her people paid enough for the crimes of others? Were they always to be the scapegoat for the world’s evils? Solas studied her. His expression softening, warming. “Faith in _you_ is shaping this moment,” he said, and the force of his words drew Lavellan from her dark musings. “But needs room to grow.” 

Moving to the edge of the torch’s light, he gazed up at the high mountains around them. The fade-walker’s face was remote, but also resolved. A deep yet somehow radiant stillness about him. In that moment, Fenria thought he looked like a statue of a king from some bygone age. Proud, strong, and wise. He was a striking man, to her tastes at least, and she found her eyes lingering in ways they probably shouldn’t, thoughts straying right along with them. She inwardly chided herself for her folly, chalking it up to elfroot and exhaustion, and followed after him. Still, the memory of his heartbeat against her ear, his breath upon her frozen skin lingered.

“By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it,” Solas said over his shoulder as the dalish woman approached and came to a stop at his side. They were close. So close the hem of her robes brushed against his legs. She shoulder a mere inch from his. “Changed _you_.” There was something sad in the Herald’s smile, but there was also strength, courage. The events at Haven _had_ changed her. Forged her anew in many ways.

“I will not deny that,” she whispered barely loud enough to hear. Their breath rose in clouds before them, twisting together and dispelling with the wind as they looked out into the night. Solas turned to her and she to him. Both keenly aware, of the distance, or lack there of, between them. 

“Scout to the north, Lethallan,” he said quietly, resisting the urge to brush back the silken lock that fell across Fenria’s forehead and cheek, and gesturing instead to a shadowed valley between two distant peaks. “Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it.” Deep green eyes followed his motion, peering into the darkness as if to see what he spoke of. “There is a place where the Inquisition can build… Grow.” A gust stirred Lavellan’s hair and robes. Even bruised, bloodied, and still healing, she looked like a painting of a warrior queen awash in the light of his sapphire flames. She was beautiful. Utterly beautiful. “Skyhold,” he breathed. _My gift to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan= kin, cousin, familiar greeting for a female (Lethallin for male)  
> falon = friend


	49. The Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To camp fire talks, inappropriate jokes, a new beginnings, friendships strengthened, a new home found, and budding lovers. Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... I originally posted this as part of the last chapter, but decided to split them up in retrospect. So if you're confused as to why you've already read this, that's why. Sorry for any confusion.

It would take the entirety of the Inquisition a several days of solid marching to reach the fortress Solas had seen in the Fade. There were many injured that needed tending before further travel could begin and it would take Lavellan some time to recover from her wounds, especially because she was adamant that those in graver states be seen first. As her strength returned she would be able to manage some of the mending on her own in any case, or so she contended.

In many ways, Fenria felt just as she had after her first attempt to close the Breach. The people greeted her with a new and deeper reverence that was unnervingly close to worship. It deeply unsettled her, but she was well glad that they were alive to vex her so. As soon as she was strong enough to ride, she saddled Thenerasvir and made to scout the path ahead, riding until mid-day before returning to camp to update their maps of the mountains, grateful to be out from the prying gazes of the villagers and soldiers and doing something helpful once more.

These treks, of course, left plenty of time for her companions to question her about recent events, and while she could tell they were doing all in their power to restrain themselves from pestering her too badly, their curiosity was clearly roasting a few of them alive. Specifically, Dorian.

“So it’s Fenria, then?” The Tevinter mage asked off handedly as they rode out from camp to explore another possible passage through the mountains- if not one to take them to this mysterious keep, at least one scouts might use once they were well established.

“Mhm,” she hummed absently.

“As in the constellation Fenris?”

“Precisely that.”

“The white wolf,” Dorian mused with a bright chuckle. “Seems remarkably fitting.”

“Indeed,” Solas hummed warmly, mildly amused.

“My father certainly thought so,” Lavellan said absently, bringing her horse to a halt to study the high windswept cliffs around them before motioning the little group into a new canyon.

“I think it is lovely name,” Cassandra voiced quietly.

“Thanks, Cass,” the Herald replied with a flash of a bright and genuine smile. “I have always been rather fond of it. I am glad to have friends and allies such that I may once again use it freely.”

“If I may ask,” Dorian began, lips pursed and brow furrowed in confused thought, “why go by ‘Lani’ at all? What’s the harm in Fenria?”Lavellan paused for a moment, her muscles stiffening ever so briefly. The elven woman rolled her shoulder in a shadow of a relaxed shrug.

“ _Dalish_ elf with a _Tevinter_ name? That’ll make me friends,” she said dryly.

“A fair point, I suppose,” he conceded, taking the hint and letting the matter drop though it was rather apparent that twenty new questions had just formed in the mage’s mind. While she had fooled no one, it was clear she was not yet ready to share her full reasoning just yet. But there was much truth to what she had offered. That they could not deny.

 

Later that night, Lavellan sat by the little fire nested in the circle of her companions’ tents, laughing and joking over a warm bowl of rough soup. There was the distinct sense of hope and anticipation in the air that reminded the Dalish elf of her clan, of the quiet flurry of activity the night before the aravels began the journey to a new camp. In the morning, the Inquisition would begin the march to their new home. A home none of them had yet seen, but that promised a new beginning. Many had died to get them here, Chancellor Roderick included, and more would likely pass on the way, but now they had a plan, had something to strive for. At times like these, that was enough.

“I see you eyeing Bianca, Sparkler,” Varric said as he sat polishing the metal of his crossbow to a high shine. “Hands to yourself.”

“I wouldn't worry,” the tevinter mage replied with mild contempt. “She's not my type.”

“And here I thought you were a man of refined taste.”

“For fine wine and literature, Varric, not for… whatever that contraption is,” he said waving vaguely with one hand mittened hand before pulling his wool blanket more tightly around himself.

“Contraption?” Varric started. He stroked the blond wood lovingly, cooing to it. “Don't listen to him, sweetheart. His people are vilified for a reason.” Dorian scoffed. Lavellan snorted. The motion forcing warm soup up her nose and causing her to splutter.

“See Varric, you’ve gone and killed the Herald. Bravo.”

“Out maneuvered a corrupted ancient magister and an avalanche only to be felled by lowly broth,” the elven woman wheezed and coughed. “How very fitting.” At that, they all chortled. “Hey Cass, can you passing me that rag?” The Seeker stopped mid-stroke of her wet stone across blade, going completely still. “Are… Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?”

“That’s… the third time you called me that. ‘Cass’ instead of ‘Cassandra’ or ‘Seeker’,” the warrior whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Lavellan began, cheeks flushing. “I didn’t even notice. I’ll stop if you like.”

“No. no,” the other woman replied hurriedly, raising a hand to pause the elf before tossing her the requested cloth.“I like it! It’s just… no one has called me that since… In a very long time.” Fenria smiled knowingly, wiping her face clean of the broth turned nasal projectile.

“Since Anthony.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Cassandra sighed, an old, deep hurt throbbing to life in the warrior’s chest. “So few have been close enough-”

“Seeker, you’re like a sister to me,” the Herald said, cutting her off. “A sister I occasionally want to knock off her horse, but a sister all the same.” She smirked wryly. Cassandra breathed a small laugh. “If you would prefer I call you by your full name or title, I shall. But I consider you a close friend. You should know that. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. A _hundred_ times over.”

“I… thank you,” the Seeker said, her features bright and warm in the firelight. “And I, you. On many counts.” She gestured toward her leg. The women shared a heartfelt smile then returned to their tasks.

“How very touching,” Dorian sniffed theatrically, wiping a mock tear from his eye. “Is this the part where we all hug?”

“And the Seeker’s heart grew three sizes that day,” Varric sighed, cheek resting in one hand, a wistfully expression upon his face.

“Shut it, both of you,” Fenria snarked throwing the soiled rag at the dwarf. “Before I let her use you for practice.”

“You would never!” Dorian said indignantly. “I’m far to pretty for that.”

“Bluff called, Vixen. You wouldn’t let the Seeker off me. Not after you so heroically saved me with one of Buttercup’s jars of stingy mayhem.” Fenria glowered for a moment at the two men, then subsided.

“True enough. Sorry, Cass, you’ll have to tolerate them a while longer.” The Seeker gave the men a narrow-eyed glare and they seemed to wilt slightly under her gaze. That seemed to satisfy her. “By the way, Varric, I believe you owe me a drink,” the elven woman said brightly, setting down her now empty bowl and taking up the staff Fiona had given her. It had belonged to one of the mages that perished in the fall of Haven and was scuffed and damaged in a few places, but it was nothing she couldn’t fix with a little work and a lot of elbow grease.

“Oh?”

“We survived didn’t we?”

“Ah. Right. I did say that didn’t I?”

“You certainly did,” the elf beamed. “Though I believe I’ll wait until our accommodations are a bit better before I make you pay up.” She waved around them at the well worn camp. “I’m fairly sure everything but the water is questionable that the moment… and even that… But I’ve got your number dwarf,” Fenria said giving him a playful glare.

“Noted.”

“I imagine Master Tethras would not be so foolish as to try to out fox a wolf,” Solas said, not bothering to look up from the book he sat reading a pace or so away.

The elven woman smirked at that. She had expected more of a reaction from her friends over her hidden magic, but for the most part they had simple rolled with. Curious for sure, and she had expected that, but otherwise mostly unaffected. It made her appreciate them all the more. As Sera had said, “You were always weird, yeah. Now you’re just furry too. Just keep your fangs to yourself right. And your fleas. Can’t hit fleas with arrows.” And that had been the end of that.

“So Boss,” The Iron Bull said, wandering over and flopping down on the ground beside her, careful not to jostle the staff she was focused on. “Been wondering. You do any training as a wolf? Fighting wise, I mean?”

“A bit,” she replied, smoothing the chipped wood with a sanding stone. The runes would need to be re-carved, but she’d be able to upgrade them in the process. If there was time over the next few nights or once they reached their new stronghold, she should be about to turn it into a fine weapon. “Helped young hunters in my clan learn how to track prey and avoid predators. How to handle a predator should the need arise. But for obvious reasons, I haven’t done much since before the Conclave.” The qunari nodded slowly, exchanging a long look with the Warden who had also just joined them as well at the Commander who was hovering at the edge of the companion’s circle. “Why?” Lavellan asked suspiciously, glancing between them.

“Well… We were thinking… Would you be willing to help train the soldiers and scouts?” Blackwall asked.

“When you are well, of course,” Cullen said stepping forward hastily. While it was clear he wasn’t overly comfortable with this conversation, his eyes were eager, hopeful even. “Your skills could help us better prepare for beast attacks. For fighting mabari should the need arise. It would greatly enhance our range of skills.”

“Fewer casualties in the field and on scouting runs due to incompetence,” Blackwall added.

Cassandra looked up from her blade, eyes distance, brow furrowed in that way that meant she was thinking deeply.

“Such training could be invaluable,” she said to herself. “The Herald can turn into a wolf of impressive size. Surely, if they can train against her, a beast of normal proportion would be no match.”

“Precisely our thinking, Seeker,” Cullen said nodding. “Of course, that is for her to decide.”

“So whatdaya say, Boss?” Bull rumbled nudging her gently in the thigh with his elbow. “Feel like going teeth to horn with a qunari for a few rounds?”

Lavellan studied each of them, eyes narrowed in thought. In truth, she’d made her decision as soon as Blackwall had asked. It was a fantastic idea and she’d be happy to help. The training would probably do her good anyway. Those at the camp fire had gone silent, hands stilling in whatever tasks they had set to, eyes darting between the nervous warriors and the mage. Even Solas lowered his book to watch the exchange.

Finally Fenria broke into a wide grin.

“I’d love to help,” she said brightly. The men seemed to breath a collective sigh, the dalish elf beginning to chuckle. “Seriously. You’re faces were priceless.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. Blackwall shrugged awkwardly. “Come on, guys! It’s just combat training” she snorted. “Not like you were asking me to cut off my left arm or anything.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the Commander sighed. “It’s just with all you been through… All you’ve done for us… How recently you revealed…” He shifted self-consciously. “I didn’t know if it was proper… I mean…I didn’t want you to feel as though we were taking advantage of you.”

“Well you are,” the elf said, continuing to smile. “But this is the sort of ‘advantage’ I don’t mind. I’ve train with some of you a little already. And given how often I seem to find myself in hopelessly unsurvivable circumstances, adding some new skills and brushing up on old ones would probably be in everyone’s best interests.” Lavellan stretched her shoulder, wincing at the lingering soreness. “Though if it’s all the same to you, lets wait until after we’re settled in a new base of operation. I’d rather not undo all the time and effort Solas and the healers put in to getting me on my feet.” She glanced over at the fade-walker as she spoke and was pleased to see a quiet smirk tug at his lips though he had seemingly returned to his reading.

“That would be most appreciated,” he said.

“Of course, Herald,” Cullen said with a little bow. “I wouldn’t have it otherwise.” With that the Commander excused himself with a polite ‘good night’ and set to whatever other tasks remained to him that evening.

“Ah. This should be fun,” The Iron Bull sighed with a warm if slight feral smile. He stretched out his long legs, arms crossing behind his great horned head as he reclined against the bench on which Lavellan sat. “I’ve been wondering what you would be like in action. I’ve seen you use hand-to-hand in combat before. You’re good. Quick. Seen you go a few rounds with Leliana too. She has more experience, but you make up for it well enough. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when I get my hands on you,” he all but growled. Fenria let out a bark of laughter.

“That assumes you can get your hands on me at all,” she retorted smoothly.  
“Cocky eh? Think you can take me?” He gestured to the muscular length of him. “I’m four times your size. Alright maybe only three times your wolf, but my point stands.” The elven woman merely snorted, shaking her head. “I should warn you,” Bull rumbled playfully, “I’ve gone toe-to-paw with my fair share of wolves. Never been bested by one.” At this the elf smiled, a pointed, mischievous thing.

“For a man keen on hunting dragons, I imagine a wolf is little challenge.” She paused, a low chuckle in her throat as she leaned in to the big man’s ear. “But I am no ordinary wolf, Ben-Hassrath,” she purred, her breath ghosting over his ear though her voice remained loud enough to carry. “I am no mindless beast that attacks in blind rage or fear. I have studied your fighting style for weeks. Seen your steps and techniques. An advantage you do not have.” This made The Bull’s head tilt in thought, though it did not seem to dampen his anticipation in the least, quite the opposite in fact. Fenria withdrew, running delicate fingers along the length of the wood in search of imperfections. “I may be no warrior trained from birth to wield an axe or a shield. This is true. But do not underestimate a foe you have never fought, falon.” Satisfied with the work she had accomplished that evening, the elven woman tucked her bowl and other small items into her bag, sliding the the staff through the strap on the back. “We shall indeed see what will happen _if_ you manage to get your hands on me,” she mused as she rose. “I imagine it will be quite the spectacle.” She winked at The Iron Bull, yawned, and made for the edge of the fire’s light. “On that note, I think I’m going to go catch some shut eye before we head out tomorrow. Solas?” she asked turning toward her fellow elf.

“Hmm?” He glanced up at her.

“Elfroot? I want to try to ease this shoulder a bit more. It’s still stiff.” He nodded and motioned to his tent.

“Second pouch just inside the entrance.”

“What would I ever do without you,” she sighed in relief and headed off in the direction he indicated.

“You’d probably have died at the Conclave,” he mused with a smirk, eyes returning to his page, though occasionally flicking in her direction.

“Yeah that. Thanks for that,” she called over her shoulder as she rummage through the aforementioned pouches. “If not for that wonderful little bit of timing and luck on your part, there’d have been no one to seal the Breach or to make a heroic, if ridiculously foolish, not-so-last-stand at Haven.” She straighten, withdrawing from the tent and favoring him with a brilliant smile before waving good night to them all and wandering off. The Iron Bull watched her as she left, eyes lingering appreciative.

“Think she could do it,” Varric asked. “Or was that just talk?” Cassandra shrugged, her sword had been honed to a fine edge and rested at her side as she set to work on her various daggers. The stubborn dents in her shield would have to wait for better tools.

“I’ve sparred her a few times. She is no warrior, as she said, but in another life she would have made a fine rogue.” Blackwall made a humming sound of thought.

“So long as she can avoid a hard blow she may stand a chance.”

“Assuming magic is out of the picture aside from her shifting, you mean,” Solas noted.

“Yes. Though if we ask that of her, I would assume guard is out of the question for us.”

“I’m sorry. Are we legitimately discussing who would win if the Qunari spy and the Dalish wolf decided to have a go at one another?” Dorian ask incredulously.

“Why not?” Bull mused. “You jealous.”

“What?… I… You… I don’t…” The mage’s face reddened.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” the qunari laughed.

“What do you say, Sparkler?” Varric asked. “What’s your bet?”

“My bet? You honestly expect me to…” The conversation carried on back and forth for a while. Points raised on all sides until it seemed all but inevitable that the contest would have to come to pass at some point.

The Iron Bull’s gaze lingered on the direction the Herald had gone, mind working over her words and the discussion around him. He wasn’t entirely sure how much had been talk and how much was true, and he usually had a knack for reading people, but if the intent was to rile him, she had more than succeeded. In more ways than one. He let out a low hungry sound and shook himself giving Solas a rather pointed looked.

“If you don’t go after that, Solas, and you’re a damned fool,” he growled, nodding after Lavellan. “Women like her don’t come around but once or twice an age.” Solas went utterly still.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said smoothly.

“Ha!” the qunari roared, unconvinced. “You’re many things, elf, but blind is not one of them. She’s friendly, I’ll grant that. More than one drunkard has made wistful mention of her in bar room banter. But the way she looks at you…” He trailed off with in a hum. “There are men- and women- who would kill for someone half her worth to smile at them like that.”

“I hardly see how…”

“Oh come on,” Dorian burst out from the opposite side of the fire, blankets still clutched about him as he shivered in the chill mountain air. “I know you can be dense, but even you have to have noticed her eyes seem set on you. And it’s not exactly hard to tell you have similar leanings.” Solas slid his bookmark into the appropriate page and closed his book lightly, fingers drumming on the cover for a moment or two. “She’s waiting for you to make a move. Move already!”

“Enough, Dorian,” the elven man said cooly. “What is or is not between the Herald and I, is exactly that. Between us. As far as I am concerned, it will still that way. Good night, all of you.” With that he rose and bowed into his tent.

“What’d you put up his butt,” Sera drawled around a mouth full of half-chewed bread, walking into the fire’s light and plopping down beside the tevinter mage.

“Would you chew with your mouth closed for Maker’s sake,” Dorian said in disgust. At that, the Red Jenny leaned in close to his ear and noisily smacked her lips. “Charming,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, it would seem our dear elves-”

“Elfy elves,” Sera corrected with a raised finger.

“Right. Our dear _elfy_ elves have the eyes for one another, but one of them is being an idiot.”

“Ha! Eggy, right? Yeah, called that ages ago,” she said theatrically. “Must have a bug stuck up somewhere of sumthin.” The young rogue thought for a moment than burst out laughing, spraying little bits of bread in all directions. “Maybe he doesn’t like the smell of wet dog.”

“Sera!” Cassandra scolded in shock, looking up from her wet stone.

“What?” she asked with shrug. “It’d explain it, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe he’s more of a cat person,” Blackwall snorted, choking on his chortles at the warrior woman’s glare.

“Maker preserve us!” Cassandra exclaimed, rising and thrusting her sword roughly into its sheath.

“A pussy person, yeah?” the blonde elf hooted. “No, no, wait, but she’s got a…right? Well I hope she’s got a… Gotta be the wet dog smell, then yeah. Or the fleas. Think she’s got fleas?”

“If she didn’t before, that old wolf pelt he wears probably gave ‘em to her,” the Warden offered. Cassandra made a positively disgusted sound.

“You’re awful. The lot of you.” She grabbed her things and headed off in the direction of her own tent, leaving the sounds of laughter behind her.

In truth, Cassandra didn’t know why the two elven mages hadn’t made their affections known to one another. Perhaps the right time hadn’t come yet. Or perhaps they had and it hadn’t gone well. At any rate, she secretly hoped they would find comfort in one another. They seemed to glow when in each other’s presences. Solas less sad. The Herald more at ease. It was sweet and beautiful and romantic. And above all things, though she swore she would never admit it, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had a romantic at heart.

 

Dawn came early the next day, accompanied by the bustle of a camp being torn down and the prepared for travel. Lavellan helped hitched her great black and white painted stallion to a broad cart. Given that her ability to shift was no longer a secret and her shoulder and ribs had been healed to a great extent, she would travel much of the way on foot, both as elf and as wolf. It would leave her better able to pick up the trail they had marked before and allow the use of her horse to aid in the transport of those in the most need. He was strong and steady and hard to spook, making him ideal for hauling the most gravely wounded or ill.

Just before mid-day, those who had fled Haven got underway, the great white wolf taking the lead. Already, the Herald heard folks calling her ‘The White Wolf of the Inquisition’ and, for once, it was a title she didn’t mind. It didn’t make her out to be something more than she was. For the first time in what felt like years, she didn’t feel as though the wolf was a burdensome secret to be kept. Sure, some met her with fear and suspicion, but some always would- whether due to her ears, her tattoos, her magic, or her wolf. For the most part however, her ability seemed a novelty, a curiosity, and seeing as she was on their side it went little farther than that. However, a few had taken to calling her ‘Andraste’s White Wolf.’ She deeply hoped _that_ particular nickname wouldn’t stick.

By Solas’s calculation, it would take them three, maybe four days, to reach the mysterious fortress moving at the slow rate necessary for such a large and varied group. By daylight they traveled with the caravan, leading it safely through the mountains until early evening. Then the villagers would make camp and the Herald and the Dreamer would scout ahead for several more hours before retiring for the night.

It was late on the third evening when Solas and Lavellan crested the high peak, side by side, and the dalish elf witnessed their new home for the first time. There, on a lonely peak in the middle of a sweeping valley wreathed with snow capped mountains, stood the proud and sturdy ruin of a once great castle.

Lavellan gasped. Her staff falling by the wayside as she raced forward, coming to a stop just before the edge of the cliff, hand resting on a tall rocky outcropping for stability as she stared opened mouthed at the sight before her. Never in all her life had she thought some place so grand, with so much potential, steeped in so much history would be somewhere she might call home. Sure she had dreamed, wished upon all the stars in the heavens as a child and adolescent, but to see it! Now! To have it be real! All she could do was gape.

Solas smiled. It had been literal ages since he had walked these steps and when last he was here the world had been very different and changed forever. A whole torn in two by his hand. There had been no fortress upon the lonely mountain then. Just a simple clearing with a sapling at its heart. Ground upon which magics so ancient, so powerful, and so complex in their subtly had been worked that the very stone itself and all things built upon them were imbued with protective wards.

He paused to admire the view, made all the more enchanting by the woman who stood a few paces ahead of him enraptured by the Keep and illuminated in the ever dimming light of the recently set sun. Her features had shifted from awe to a brilliant grin. A child’s longing given fruition. Quietly, he approached, coming to stand just off to her right. Shining eyes settled on him for a moment.

“Tarasyl'an te’las,” he said, nodding toward the ruin.

“The place where the sky was held back,” Lavellan breathed, face once more turning to the Inquisition’s future headquarters.

“Skyhold,” Solas smiled fondly. Snorting lightly, he glanced up at the scarred heavens. “Seems oddly fitting.” The Herald breathed a little laugh at that, bells carried away on the wind.

“Solas…,” she began before words failed her. “It’s… It’s perfect!” The tall elf chuckled. “It’s so lovely! I mean, okay, it needs work… I can literally see the holes in the roof from here…. but just _look at it!_ ” The elven woman sighed deeply. The next word coming as little more than whisper, a prayer long waiting answer, and the music of it fanned a spark within the elvhen man’s heart. “Home.” Never, in all his years, had Solas been more sure of any of his decisions than the choice to reveal this place to Lavellan. Of all people to entrust this fortress to, she would see it for what it was and raise it higher than any before her.

“How do you… How did you… Where did you…?” She stammered. His laugh deepened, becoming richer and warmer, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Where you do think, Lethallan?” He all but purred. “A spirit showed me.” Fenria snorted loudly, favoring him with a narrow-eyed glare that had lost almost all of its edge due the smile that would not leave her emerald eyes or her rose hued lips.

“Come on, Fade-walker,” she said nudging him playfully in the shoulder. “Let’s get back to camp.” Even though her body turned, her face lingered on the not so distant castle for a moment longer. Hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t dreaming.

_Home._


	50. A Fortress. A Leader.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold- beautiful ruin that it is. 
> 
> The Inquisition adjusts to its new home, making repairs and settling in, the time coming for it to decide its next step and who will guide it along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp... Now I'm bummed I didn't split that last chapter like it is on my computer's version. I could have left off at a nice even chapter 50. Oh well. Not sure I want to bother with changing that now. Maybe I will eventually. We'll see how much it annoys me later.
> 
> Update: Less than 24hours later, it annoyed me enough to change. A Song of Hope and The Space Between are now two separate chapters... Sorry for any confusion.

The castle was run down by years or perhaps centuries of disuse. Rubble littered the courtyards. Old boards, broken statues, and dented chandeliers the main hall. Almost all of the roofs leaked, several had long ago rotted away or caved in. There was much work to be done if the place was to become their fortress and base of operations. 

“This is the Inquisition?” a man asked in disgust as he looked around at the crumbling stone. “A dusty old ruin full of battered soldiers?”

“If you’d shut your mouth and open your eyes, you’d see the Inquisition is our only hope,” a woman replied tartly, cuffing him on the back of the head after setting down her arm load of goods. 

Lavellan could not blame the man his harsh words. Skyhold didn’t seem like much when you were used to a warm room and sturdy roof. But to her, Skyhold was magnificent. The old stones seemed to hum beneath her touch. Solas said that was due to all the ancient spells that had been worked upon the land in times stretching as far back as Elvhenan. Spells that permeated the very soil and anything built upon them, protecting them from evil. She believed it. The keep seemed to welcome her, call to her even. In time, with patience and lots of care, this stronghold could be made grand once more.

The refugees of Haven had been there only a week or so- healing the wounded, gathering supplies, scouting the area, and working on restoring the structures and grounds. Fenria toiled with the rest. It wasn’t uncommon to see her hanging from scaffolding with a bucket of nails and planks of wood, her foot swaying absently in the breeze, head bobbing to whatever tune she was humming. Or to find her helping the settlers and merchants carry goods and lead livestock. Or lending her skills to the healers, kneeling over the sick and injured with hands glowing white with quiet power. And when she wasn’t doing any of those things, she could usually be found with Dorian and Solas organizing the heavily shelved space that would serve as the library. 

“So a wolf?” The Tevinter mage asked off handedly from his perch on a stool as the Herald dusted off a few worn volumes and passed them up to him to place on a higher shelf.

“Mhm,” she hummed absently. 

“An interesting choice. I would have expected a halla given the your dalish heritage, though I supposed that shows how little I truly know.” Lavellan snorted. 

“I didn’t exactly _choose_ , Dorian. It just kind of worked out that way.” She shook her head with a little chuckle. “All things considered, a halla would probably have made my life a lot easier. Still,” she sighed, “nothing beats a good howl at the moon.” Solas tried very hard to keep himself from smiling. It was a rather more challenging feat than he expected. The tevinter mage paused and turned to Lavellan, book laden hand resting upon his hip as he gave her an appraising look down the length of his nose. 

“You know, I’m not entirely certain if you’re joking or not.” The elven woman beamed mischievously.

“Try it sometime,” she shrugged. “Skyhold has plenty of towers. When the moon is high and bright, just pick one. Go up to the tippy top and just let loose with your deepest, richest howl.” Solas blurted out a very undignified snort. Dorian eyed the two elves. The one gazing up at him with a far too innocent grin. The other dutifully not looking at them at all from where he stood a few paces away, alphabetizing another shelf by author and subject.

“Alright, now I know you’re just playing with me.”

“If you say so,” Fenria smirked, handing him another volume. 

“Why would being a wolf be a problem?” Dorian asked returning he attention to the shelving. “Your people are all tree hugging wildlings as far as most of us humans are aware. Shouldn’t you be off racing through the trees with the beasts anyway? Singing songs with the birds and dancing around blazing campfires under star-filled skies?” Again the fade-walker had to resist the urge to laugh aloud and only marginally succeeded. 

“Oh do join the conversation, Solas,” Dorian drawled. “I fear you may hurt yourself trying to contain your amusement. Can’t have than now, can we? Not after your miraculous discovery of the _fine_ castle in which we now reside.”

“Do I detected a hint of sarcasm, Master Pavus,” Lavellan hummed. Dorian rolled his eyes with a disgusted little noise.

“No not at all,” he muttered disingenuously. “Would that we all could traverse our dreams so readily. Finding drafty, moss covered, moldy, bird and bat infested, albeit handy abandoned fortresses in the middle of nowhere just in the knick of time to prevent us all from freezing to death on a dank mountainside.”

“Would you rather be back in Haven?” she asked with a raised eyebrow of quiet challenge. “Or perhaps still lost in said mountains?”

“I… no…” he conceded. “But this place is hardly… _comfortable_.”

“I imagine that has a great deal to do with one’s perspective,” the elven woman chided lightly. “Still, I don’t entirely disagree, but that’s what nails and elbow grease are for. A foreign concept to you, I know.” There was no heat in the barb. The Herald was only joking with the Tevinter elitist and a nudge of her shoulder against his hip solidified that notion. Dorian favored her a playfully glower. 

“It would seem, Fenria is doing just fine without my assistance,” Solas chortled. “And I don’t think my addition would benefit you in any case.” 

The Herald was pleased to hear Solas use her name. So rarely before had he called her anything more personal than Lavellan and even that infrequently. Yet he seemed to have grown a great deal more comfortable with her of late. Calling her ‘Fenria’ far more than he had ever called her ‘Lani.’ In fact, she was fairly certain he had only used _that_ name once… Twice at most. 

“Ha! Truer words are rarely spoken,” the tevinter mage replied, setting another book into place. 

“Speaking of unexpected cultural norms,” Solas said, browsing curiously over a few passages of the anthology he held before making note of it for later and stashing it on a shelf, “I am surprised you do not practice blood magic, Dorian. Is it not popular in Tevinter?”

“While we're sharing surprises, _you've_ done a lot less dancing naked in the moonlight than I expected.” Now it was Fenria’s turn to choke on her laughter, the ends of her ear pinking slightly. The mental image was quite… well… it wasn’t one she minded to say the least.

“Tevinter lore about elves remains accurate as always,” Solas breathed in an undertone.

“I wanted to see you make flowers bloom with your song… just once,” the mustached mage singsonged wistfully at the dreamer, gesturing expressively with the tome clutched in his hand. The Herald pressed finger tips to lips in order to stifle her giggles.

“It’s a bit nippy outside for unclad midnight forays, don’t you think, Dorian?” She managed after a moment before once more being overcome with a girlish fit of titters. Solas’s eyes flicked her way, a hint of smile touching his lips despite the vexing man’s comments. The human mage paused mid-action to consider, then shivered.

“It that you may have a point. In any case, Fenria,” Dorian said, his focus returning, “you were saying before I so rudely interrupted you?” The elven woman shook her head, still chuckling. 

“You know we herd halla, right,” she said wryly. “Deer plus wolves? Do the math.” 

“A fair point, I suppose,” he conceded. Until then Dorian had done rather well  
containing his enthusiasm over Lavellan’s abilities, but as time went on more and more ideas came to him making it all the more difficult to leave her be. “Your skill is quite remarkable,” he began before, in a rush, his thoughts fell from his lips. “Wherever did you learn it? It is some form of elven magic, yes? Can the ability be taught to others? To non-elves?”

“My! You are full of questions today,” Lavellan laughed. “Sadly, I don’t have many answers for you. One day I couldn’t shift. The next I could. I was still quite young the first time it happened. Don’t remember it much. Beyond that, I know rather little.” 

“Fascinating! Have you met others like you? Other shifters? Is that even the right word given that the ability differs from other types shape shifting we know of?”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘wolven’,” Solas offered distractedly, nodding to Fiona as the Former Grand Enchanter delivered another stack of books for sorting. “Or that is the common translation from the Elvhen- coming from Fen’lin or Fen’len, wolfblooded or wolfchild.” 

“Interesting. So it is distinctly canine related then?” 

“Yes and no. For the wolven- yes. Though the ability likely existed, potentially still does, for others in a different sense and with a different name.”

“Gihlan’nan, Mother of the Halla, was said to be able to shift as well,” Fenria said quietly. “Along with a few _other_ gods.” There was hint of bitterness and sadness in her voice- subtle and quiet and hidden, but there all the same. Solas looked over to see a her gazing out the nearby window, face unreadable save for the faint crease between her brows. A shiver ran over her and she looked back up at the oblivious human mage. “But to answer at least one of your questions, Dorian, no, I have never met another like me. Not that I am aware of anyway.” 

“I wonder if-” But whatever he was going to say was cut off as the elven woman pointed out something in the volumes she held. The tevinter mage climbed down from his perch to take a look, their conversation venturing off in a different direction. 

Solas could not blame Dorian for his interest, but he sensed Fenria had not being entirely truthful. She had certainly known how to distract the man when his questions pried too deeply and the conversation gone too far. Something about the emphasis on ‘other’ in reference to the elvhen gods put him ill at ease, an ugly suspicion forming at the back of his mind. He made a mental note of it for later, another piece to the puzzle that was Lavellan, and continued his task of organizing items with the help of the former Grand Enchanter. 

 

It was getting on in the afternoon and Fenria had just set down a large, heavy crate of creator-knows-what in the storage area to one side of the main gate, brushing herself off as she walked from the room. On the other side of the courtyard, the Inquisition’s advisors and the Seeker stood talking quietly. Cassandra looked up and beckoned the elf over. As the herald approached, the others seem to disperse, casting smiling glances her way as they passed, leaving only the warrior woman in their wake. _Interesting,_ she thought suspiciously.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region,” Cassandra said, smiling warmly at the people pouring through the gates and milling about the courtyard. “Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” 

“At least it is a safer place for them to gather than Haven,” the elf shrugged, wiping stubborn dust from between her fingers with a worn rag. Still it was nice to see new faces about the keep. The merchants and craftsmen would be valuable to the Inquisition.

“There is much truth in that,” the Seeker agreed, turning away. The two woman began walking through the partially cleared grounds, Lavellan simply following where she was guided. “But if word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here.” Cassandra gestured around them at the battlements. “But this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated,” she sighed, shaking her head. “At least we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you.” 

The women made their way up the stairwell to the upper courtyard, Fenria running one hand idly through the ivy clinging to the stone walls as she passed, disturbing several butterflies into flight in the process. From there they worked their way toward the main steps leading to the grand old keep’s main hall. 

“He came after me because my efforts put the Inquisition in his way,” the elf said darkly.

“Perhaps in more ways than you’ve considered,” the Seeker nodded. 

“And he came for this,” Fenria continued, clenching and unclenching her glowing hand in a fist. “Now it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead. That’s why he’s after me- after us- and ready to kill anyone who gets in his way.”

“The anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here,” Cassandra said gently, but firmly, honey eyes giving the elf a pointed look.

They had reached the landing where the stairs could be viewed from the upper and lower courtyards, the turning point just before the final flight into the castle. Lavellan was surprise to find Leliana standing there, waiting, a great blade resting across her open palms in offering. The startled elf glanced about and saw that both courtyards were quickly filling with people- villagers, soldiers, merchants, and mages. Those gathered to work upon the high walls had halted in their tasks and were turned to face the three woman. Dorian stood against a wall in the lower yard, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk upon his lips. Solas next to him, leaning casually on his staff as he so often did, features warm with the quiet amusement of hidden knowledge. Varric and Blackwall beamed from the high ledge on either side of where Sera sat swinging her feet absently over the edge. They were there, all of them. Her friends and companions, Revari, Harding, even Vivienne, all of them looking to her. A calm, eery quiet fell over the whole of Skyhold. 

“Your decisions let us heal the sky,” the Seeker was saying, her voice louder as to carry to those gathered. “Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And _we_ know it. _All_ of us.” She nodded out toward the crowd for emphasis. “The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it.” Lavellan saw several faces split into smiles, others bright with hope. Leliana stepped forward and the dalish elf turned to stare in shock at the impressive sword in the spymaster’s hands. A dragon roared against the blade where silver-white metal met rose-tinted hilt. The high polish glared in the mountain light, casting rainbows upon the stairway stones. “ _You_ ,” Cassandra said simply, gesturing toward the blade.

“I… Perhaps I didn’t hear you correctly,” Fenria breathed. “A _mage_ at the head of the _Inquisition_?”

“Not a mage,” the Seeker corrected. “You.”  

“I happen to _be_ a mage,” the Herald pointed out, a brow arching over wide eyes. “And an elf as well. Are you quiet sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I will not pretend no one will object, but times are changing,” Cassandra said resolutely. 

“Perhaps this is even what the Maker intended,” Leliana said, the Seeker nodding in agreement.

“I would be terrified handing this power to anyone,” the warrior woman continued, a breathless laugh hiding in her words, “but there would be no Inquisition without you. I… We… believe it is the only way.” Cassandra nodded toward the people below and Lavellan followed her gaze. “They’ll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you’ve risen. How it must have been by Andraste’s hand. What it means to you, how it will serve, how _you_ lead us..,” The Seeker shrugged lightly. “That is for you alone to determine. Yours to decide.”

Lavellan’s eyes lingering on the faces of those around her, then on the heavy blade, mulling over all that it represented, all they were asking _her_ to represent. She had come to the Conclave and stayed to seal the Breach to protect her people, her clan. Now she was being asked to protect them all, all the ‘clans’ of Thedas. The idea terrified her, the enormity of it. But had she not been doing that already? And would she not be at the center of much that was to come? Fenria could not return to the Marches now, to her old life. Not with what had been discovered about the anchor, about Corypheus. Cassandra, the advisors, all of the Inquisition were giving her the chance to set the course of the future, to control her own fate. Not only could she protect those she cared for, but she might be able to use this power to better their lives- elves, mages, all the people of Thedas. The First of Clan Lavellan straightened her shoulders, let out a long slow breath, and took up the sword. Bright murmurs rippled through the mass of people. 

“With fear running rampant, the people need to see a mage standing for what’s right,” she declared loud enough to be heard.“I will lead us against Corypheus. Defeat him standing with the people, not over them! I will be an ambassador! I am an elf, a dalish elf, standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for _all!_ ” Below her, Dorian whistled, Solas’s quiet smile growing.

“Wherever you lead us, you will have my blade,” Cassandra said bowing her head to the new Inquisitor, her eyes shining with a hidden smile. Then the warrior turned to the gathered crowd and called, “have our people been told?”

“They have,” said Josephine, stepping forward from among the sea of bodies “And soon the world!”

“Commander! Will they follow?”  “Inquisition! Will you follow?” Cullen bellowed to the those around him. The men and women roared in affirmation. “Will you fight?” The cheers rose. “Will we triumph?” The cacophony of sound grew ever louder and more vigorous. “You’re leader! You’re Herald!” He drew his great, gleaming broadsword and pointed at the dalish woman high above upon the Skyhold’s grand steps. “Your Inquisitor!” 

Taking her cue, Fenria thrust the ceremonial blade high over her head. She didn’t believe it possible, but the crowds shouts and whistles exploded in volume. The sound deafening, making her blood sing in her veins at the force of their conviction, the belief in her and their cause. _“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting.”_ Solas’s words echoed in the elven woman’s mind as the raucous waves of sound crashed over her. She looked down to see him grinning. There was pride there, but also somehow sadness. Perhaps, it was simply a trick of the light. _The higher they raise me, the greater my fall will be. Creators,_ she thought, eyes closing for a moment in prayer as her face lifted toward the sun, _don’t let me fall._

 

No time was wasted and once the gathered crowd had been satisfied, the three advisors and their new leader headed for the main hall to begin plans. The great room was still a mess though less so than when they had first arrived. 

“So this is where is begins,” Cullen said gazing at the building around them.

“It began in the courtyard,” Leliana corrected gently. “This is where we turn that promise into action.”

“But what do we do?” The ambassador asked. “We know nothing about this Corypheus except that he wanted your mark,” she said turning to Lavellan. 

“Could he strike at us here? We can’t have a repeat of what happened at Haven,” Fenria said bitterly.

“Skyhold has the bones to withstand Corypheus,” Cullen replied. It was clear by the admiration in his voice that the Commander was quite taken with the fortress and its potential. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips as he added, “and after what you did with one trebuchet, I’d bet against direct attack.” The elf snorted, but continued, face locked in a mask of thought as her arms came to a rest across her chest, eyes lingering unseeingly on her glowing palm.

“Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter. Is this a prelude to war with the Imperium?” 

“I get the feeling we’re dealing with extremists, not the vanguard of a true invasion,” Cullen said crossing his own arms over his chest. 

“Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to restore no longer exists,” Josephine explained. “Though they would shed no tears if the South left to chaos, I’m certain.”

“He wants to enter the Black City,” the Inquisitor said, rubbing at her brows. “Thinking that this will make him a god. Is that even possible? Either part?”

“He is willing to tear this world to shreds to reach the next. It won’t matter is he’s wrong,” came Leliana’s blunt reply

“A fair point,” the elf sighed in resignation. She been the Inquisitor for less than fifteen minutes and already she was exhausted by the weight of it. On the upside, she didn’t have to carry that blasted sword around everywhere. Beautiful as it was, it was near the same size as her and unwieldy. Her shoulder ached from holding it aloft so long. 

“What if he’s not wrong?” Cullen asked. “If he finds some other way into the Fade?”

“Then he gains the power he seeks or unleash catastrophe on us all,” the spymaster shrugged grimly.

“There’s a thought I could have done without,” the elf glowered. “Could his dragon really be an archdemon? What would that mean?”

“It would mean the beginning of another blight,” Leliana said, her features grave. 

“We’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself,” Josephine assured, though her eyes had widen in unspoken apprehension. “Perhaps it’s not an archdemon at all, but something… different?”

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Cullen warned. “Commanding such a creature gives The Elder One an advantage we can’t ignore.” 

“Someone out there must know something about Corypheus,” Inquisitor growled in frustration. 

“Unless they saw him on the field, most will not believe he even exists,” the Commander sighed. 

“I’m not sure _I_ want to believe he exist,” the dalish woman mused darkly. “Then again, we don’t really have that luxury.” Cullen breathed a quiet laugh of agreement.

“That we don’t.” 

“We do have one advantage however,” Leliana said straightening, a wolfish smile playing at her lips. “We know what Corypheus intends to do next.” They all looked at her questioningly. “In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated.”

“Imagine the chaos her death would cause,” Josephine said, nodding. “With his army-”

“An army he’ll booster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us,” Cullen growled. 

“-Corypheus could conquer the entire south of Thedas. God or no god,” the ambassador finished. Leliana sighed heavily.

“I’d feel better if we knew more about what we were dealing with.”

“You and I both, Spymaster” Lavellan agreed. 

“I know someone how can help with that,” offered Varric, striding into the great hall and over to the the assembled group. Leliana and Cullen’s eyes narrowed in varying levels of suspicion. The Ambassador looked surprised. Lavellan’s eyebrow simply rose in mute question. “Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory,” he said with a vague wave of his hand, “so I… I sent a message to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.”

“I’m always looking for new allies,” the Inquisitor shrugged. “Introduce me.”

“Parading around might cause a fuss,” Varric said hesitantly, glancing around them. “It’s better for you to meet privately… On the battlements… Trust me. It’s complicated.” 

“Alright,” the elf replied, eyeing him appraisingly. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

Varric nodded and with that, he left the way he had come, no doubt heading to the battlements himself to speak with their mysterious guest. 

“Well,” Josephine said rather briskly, turning to Lavellan. “We stand ready to move on both of these concerns.”

“On you order, Inquisitor,” Cullen bowed. 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Leliana said, one furrowed brow rising in the dwarf’s wake. “If Varric has brought who I think he has, Cassandra is going to kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends book 1. No, seriously, this 290 pages in size ten garamond font on my laptop. It's basically a short novel. To quote future Sera- "Andraste, what'd I step in?" But I love it. And I love all of you. You've been more amazing and supportive than I ever could have dreamed and I'm gonna miss you over the next few weeks, but hopefully it'll be worth it in the end.
> 
> I hope to get back to posting this about a month from now- middle/end of March. That's the plan at least... Between now and then I have some books to read (Masked Empire down- Asunder, you're up), gaming to do (so much dialog), chapters to mock up (what order am I doing all these missions in again?), and of course, life things to deal with (Booooo). 
> 
> I love you all. Thank you so much for following Fenria's tale. I look forward to "book 2" and all the fun shenanigans we'll get into together and with the Inquisition gang. 
> 
> Good luck out there!  
> Until we meet again- Dareth Shiral.


	51. New Friends. Old Enemies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric introduces Lavellan to an old friend and the time has come to decide what is to be done about the spirit-boy named Cole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins Book 2! Enjoy!

It was Hawke. Of course it was Hawke. Who else could it possibly have been? _“Hair black as raven wings. Eyes the piercing blue of a clear winter’s sky. Her smirk lazy, an ever present promise of devilry to come.”_ Varric writing style was _interesting_ to say the least, but his depiction of the Champion had been accurate right down to the blood smear across her nose and the subtle tattoo below her left eye. Dread sank in as the Seeker’s words mere moments before echoed around Fenria’s mind.

_“Have you met this_ friend of Varric’s, Inquisitor?” Cassandra had half-asked, half snarled, stilling her attacks on the stuffed would-be foe long enough to fix a hard gaze on the slender elf. 

_“Not yet, no. I am on my way now, in fact.”_

_“It had better not be who I think it is,”_ the warrioress growled. _“I will wring that little bastard’s neck.”_

_“Why? Who do you think it is?”_ The question was half-hearted, Lavellan and practically everyone else seemed to be of like mind on who this mysterious person could be. 

_“Someone Varric claimed he could not contact.”_ The thud of impact punctuating her heated words as she continued to practice with the heavy blade. _“Someone the Inquisition-”_ thwack. _“Indeed all of Thedas-”_ thud. _“Desperately needed.”_ Thwack, thud, thwack. She’d sighed then, but it had not seem to ease any of the tension for her stance or voice. _“I will reserve judgement until I know for certain. No need to have that rogue screaming_ ‘persecution’ _yet again.”_

“Varric, you crow-be-gotten idiot,” Fenria hissed under her breath as she cleared the last few steps to the battlements and approached the two waiting for her on the wind-swept ledge. “Maker take you for the headache this is going to cause.” 

Varric smiled hesitantly at the elf thought she very much doubted he had heard her. Then he turned and gestured toward the tall woman beside him. 

“Inquisitor, meet Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.” The elven woman flashed him a brief but potent glare before turning to greet the Champion with a warm smile and an offered hand. She was, after all, more than a little excited to meet the fabled hero.

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore,” Hawke said wryly to the dwarf, shaking the elf’s hand in kind.

“Hawke, the Inquisitor,” Varric introduced. 

“Call me Fenria, or Lavellan if you like. I get rather enough of the ‘formality thing’ from everyone else.” 

“Ah. Now _that_ I can understand,” the Champion chortled. “Fenria then.” She smiled before gesturing to herself. “And Marian. Or Hawke, if you prefer.”

“I thought you might have some friendly advise about Corypheus,” Varric said to dark haired rogue, clearly pleased by the good start to the conversation. “You and I did fight him after all.” Hawke fixed him with a look that caused the dwarf to shrug somewhat sheepishly and wander off. He didn’t go far enough away not to eavesdrop, something he had clear intentions of doing, but it did give the illusion that the women had space. Hawke shook her head in his direction then sighed heavily and turned to lean against the battlements, looking out over the bustling courtyards below, shoulders slumping. 

“You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard,” she said finally. “I’m sure anything I can tell you pales in comparison.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Fenria hummed, coming to stand at the Champion’s side, arms crossing casually over her chest. “You did save a city from a horde of rampaging Qunari.” The human snorted, lips twitching up in that trademark smirk.

“I don’t see how that really applies… Or is there a horde of rampaging Qunari I don’t know about?”

“There is _a_ Qunari,” Lavellan mused, finger tapping a pensive rhythm against her lips. “He almost qualifies as a horde all by himself. Fortunately, he’s on our side.” The two shared a moment’s light laughter before their mirth died, carried away in the breeze as quickly as it had come. 

“So, then, what can I tell you?” Hawke asked awkwardly.

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before?” Off to the wayside, the dwarf nodded, then took a long draft from a bottle of - was it wine? Mead? The elf wasn’t really sure- that he’d procured from a nearby crate. 

“Fought _and killed_.” There was an edge of bitterness in the rogue’s words as she straightened. “The Grey Wardens were holding him and he _somehow_ used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them.” 

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric said as he rejoined the conversation, shoving the bottle in Hawke’s direction as he spoke. She took it and drank, then offered it to Lavellan, who hesitated for a moment before shrugging and accepting. “Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

“If the Wardens have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again,” the raven hair woman said, lip pursing. 

“If that’s what happened to the Wardens, do you think we can free them?” Lavellan wondered passing the bottle back. 

“It’s possible. But we need to know more first.” Hawke took another swig from the bottle, grimacing as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. “I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Alistair. Last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks.” Her hardened face fell slightly. “Since then, nothing.” 

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks,” Varric muttered. “Did your friend disappear with them?”

“No,” Hawke said, her short hair stirring as she shook her head. “He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.” 

“If you didn’t know about Corypheus, what were you doing with the Wardens?” Lavellan asked, head tilting curiously as she rested one hip against the wall, arms crossing. 

“The templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium,” Hawke explained. “It was red. I’d hoped the Wardens could tell me more about it.” Lavellan’s face fell into shadow.

“Corypheus had templars with him at Haven. They looked like they’d been exposed to the lyrium you describe,” she said gravely. “Perhaps he was using it to corrupt them and turn them into his slaves.”

“Not to mention the red stuff we saw growing at the Temple,” Varric added. Hawke nodded sourly.

“Hopefully, I hope my friend in the Wardens will know more.” 

“I’ll take any lead I can get at the moment,” Fenria shrugged. “But in any case, I appreciate the help.” 

“I’ll do everything I can to help. I’m doing this as much for myself as for you,” the Champion said, spreading her hands as if in dismay “Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘you thought you’d killed him before’?”

“The Grey Wardens had him imprisoned,” the human woman said, her tone dark and intense. “They used my father’s blood in a ritual to seal Corypheus inside. But he could still reach out and influence the Warden’s thoughts. He sent them after me.” Frustrated hands came down in fists upon the stone of the wall before the Champion pushed off from it, beginning to pace. “And I didn’t just _think_ I killed him. When the fight was done, he was dead on the ground. Maybe his ties to the Blight somehow brought him back or maybe it’s old Tevinter magic…” She turned abruptly to the Inquisitor. “But he was _dead_. I swear it!”

“I believe you,” Fenria said, raising a stilling hand. It was as though she had lifted some great weight from Marian, the woman’s nervous movements quieting, back straightening. While the information Hawke had provided wasn’t plentiful, anything was better than piles and piles of nothing they’d found so far. “I should probably go update the Advisors.” The rogues nodded.

“Let me know if you have any other questions,” Hawke called after her. “Otherwise, I’ll meet you at Crestwood.” Lavellan paused on the second step down the from the ramparts and looked back. 

“So soon? Seems an awful long way to come just to turn around and leave.” Indeed, Hawke looked tired. Lavellan could see the road weariness she had so often felt of late mirrored in the taller woman’s eyes.

“I want to get this sorted as quickly as possible. Meet up with my contact and see what he knows.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. Can’t say as I’d want it different were I in your shoes. Care to grab a meal before you go at least? A drink perhaps?” Fenria offered. “First round’s on Varric. Second on me. You’re welcome to take your rest here as well. I’m sure we can find you a quiet corner where fewer eyebrows will be raised.” She put a subtle emphasis on the last few words, casting Varric a meaningful look.

“A generous proposition like that? How can a girl refuse?” Hawke smiled, both at Lavellan and slightly more mischievously at Varric, who now looked slightly sick. “Count on it, Inquisitor,” she said brightly.

“Fenria!” the elf corrected playfully as she trotted down the steps and out of sight. 

 

Indeed, the Inquisitor had every intention of going straight to her advisors. The tidbits Hawke had offered might prove useful. The sooner they were moved upon the better. Instead, her attention was drawn to the lower courtyard where heated voices could be heard. Fenria sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, then headed toward the commotion. 

Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas stood near the base of the old stone steps. The mages clearly having a go at one another as the Seeker looked on disapprovingly. All of them cast the occasional glance at the slight rogue crouched at the base of the steps who, for his part, seemed oblivious as he plucked small flowers from among the weeds. 

“This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet,” Vivienne was saying sharply to Solas as the Inquisitor came into range, gesturing angrily at Cole. “It has no business being here.”

“Wouldn’t you say the same of an apostate,” Solas countered in a carefully even tone. The Enchantress stared at him down the length of her nose, lips pursing slightly. Such lack of response spoke volumes. No doubt in an Imperial court such a look could ruin someone. Here, however, it held much less sway. Yet it never ceased to amaze Fenria how the woman could say so much with a simple gesture or expression. As much as she may dislike her, there was an unusual sort of power, magic even, in the Enchantress’s graces. The elf was not ashamed to admit she respected her for it. 

“What’s going on here?” Lavellan asked as she slowed to a stop.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said nodding respectfully to her, “I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage… given his usual abilities.” Before Fenria could so much as open her mouth, Solas stepped in.

“He _can_ cause people to forget him. Or even fail entirely to notice him,” he said before shaking his head lightly. “These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.” Fenria’s eyebrows shot up at that and she couldn’t help but notice the way his voice lifted as he spoke. He was clearly quite intrigued, but was trying hard to hide- or at least dim- his enthusiasm. 

“It is a _demon_ ,” Vivienne said dully, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed to slits.

“If you prefer,” the Dreamer offered over his shoulder with a small shrug. “But the truth is somewhat more complex.”

“Cole warned us about Corypheus at Haven,” Lavellan pointed out. “He saved a lot of lives.”

“And what will its help cost?” Vivienne replied hotly. “How many lives will this demon later claim?”

“In fact, his nature is not so easily defined,” the Dreamer replied as cool as the enchantress was hot. _You have my interest,_ Fenria thought, head titling as she watched the exchange.

“Speak plainly, Solas,” Cassandra said stepping forward, her irritation at the mages’ word game beginning to show. “What are we dealing with?”

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something,” the tall elf explained to the Seeker, his hands moving idly as they so often did. “In their true form they look bizarre, monstrous.”

“But you claim Cole looks like a young man,” the Seeker persisted. “Is it possession?”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “He has possessed nothing and no one. Yet he appears human in all respects.” Turning again to Fenria he continued, “Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.” Lavellan thought for a long moment before answering. 

“In my studies, demons either possessed something from this world or were summoned and bound. They almost never look like something you’d mistake for a person.” 

“Normally you’d be correct,” Solas nodded, hands spreading at his sides. “But Cole has willfully manifested in human form without possessing anyone.”

“The demons who came through the Breach, or through the rifts, weren’t possessing anything either,” she noted, an eyebrow quirking in quiet challenge. Vivienne hummed approvingly. Solas’s jaw tightened, whether in response to Lavellan’s words or the Enchantress’s reaction was unclear. He bowed his head conceding the point before continuing. 

“Those demons were drawn through against their will. Driven mad by this world,” he said solemnly. “But Cole predates the Breach. From what we can tell, he has lived here for months, perhaps years.” It was hard to mistake the man’s excitement now. It was endearing even if the possibility of a demon in their midst was not. “He looks like a young man. For all intents and purposes, he _is_ a young man. It is remarkable.”

Fenria snorted in mildly grudging agreement. She had nothing against Cole. Certainly not to the same extent Vivienne did, at least. Perhaps it was just the Dalish in her, that tiny seed of engrained suspicion that made her wary. But she could not deny her own curiosity about the boy, her own fascination with him. And while he made her slightly uneasy, she suspected that was more due his _otherness_ than any ill intent on his part. It seemed hypocritical to use “he’s different” as a condemnation given her own heritage, skills, and upbringing. 

“Well then,” Fenria said with all the brightness she could muster. “I should hear what Cole has to say for himself, don’t you think?” Vivienne clearly did not think so, but Solas nodded his approval. The Seeker simply looked on mutely. “Where is he now?”  
“If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere,” Cassandra said, sword-hand fingers twitching unconsciously. 

They glanced around. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps not, but Lavellan glanced in the direction of the surgeons tents where the wounded and dying lay. There, quietly pacing the rows around the fire, was the slight young man with his gigantic floppy hat. 

“All right,” Fenria said hesitantly, brushing dust from her jacket and straightening her shoulders. “I’ll be right back.” The gaze of the others was almost a physical weight upon her back. 

She approached slowly, as one might a wild rabbit or skittish horse. Cole did not turn to look at her, but when she was near enough he began to speak. Words soft and quiet as not to disturb the resting. 

“Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape.” His voice became even more distant as he spoke, edged with the shadows of dark emotions. Fear, pain, sorrow, anger. All lingering just below the surface to the mysterious rogue’s tone. Cole stiffened, eyes growing unfocused. “Choking fear. Can’t think from the medicine, but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat.” Turning, he gazed sadly upon a battered man. “Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to… I’m dying. I’m…. _dead._ ” The last word carrying a horrible heaviness as the trembling soldier went still. 

“You’re feeling their pain?” Fenria asked quietly, eyes lingering on the deceased man with his many wounds and vicious burns. 

“It’s louder this close,” Cole said, shifting uneasily. “With so many of them.” 

“Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable,” she asked gently, motioning to the high deserted parapets where there would be few souls and fewer hurts for the boy to hear. 

“Yes,” he said almost longingly, glancing upward, “but here is where I can help.” The slim rogue moved to stand over another broken soul laying on the stained earth, the elf following a step behind. “Every breath slower. Like laying in a warm bath. Sliding away. The smell of my daughter’s hair when I kiss her goodnight.” The wounded woman went still, slipping across the Veil and into the next world, a faint smile upon her lips. “Gone.” Again, Cole went stiff, like a dog catching a sound upon the wind. “Cracked brown pain. Dry. Scraping. Thirsty.” He moved quickly and fluidly to kneel beside another wounded woman. “Here.” He offered her a water skin and held it while she drank. 

“Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. He nodded and rose. 

“It’s all right,” Cole said to Fenria. “She won’t remember me.”

“You’re using your powers as a spirit to help people,” the Inquisitor observed.

“Yes,” he breathed, nodding slowly. 

“Solas tried to explain what you are, but the concept is a little hard for me to understand.” That wasn’t entirely true. She had understood, at least theoretically, most of what the Fade-walker said, but it was a reasonable excuse to get Cole to try to explain it for himself. “Perhaps _you_ could tell me. In your own words.” Again he nodded.

“I used to think I was a ghost,” the spirit-boy began quietly, almost ashamed. “I didn’t know. I made mistakes. But I made friends too,” he added quickly before his face fell once more. “Then a templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me _different,_ but stronger.” Cole looked around them as he spoke, he face smoothing, eyes closing for a moment. “I can _feel_ more. I can _help_.” 

Fenria mulled that over of a long moment. It was like a code she did not have a key for. It didn’t make complete sense to her and probably wouldn’t without further context, but it was how he spoke, his emotions as he did so that told her all she needed to know. Demon he might be, but if so he was unlike any she had ever heard of. And she supposed, they really didn’t have a word of a benevolent spirit manifestation. If he could help, was willing to help, and asked for nothing in return… at least nothing unreasonable… well she just didn’t see how she could turn him away without some concrete justification. Lavellan nodded slowly to herself as she made her decision. 

“If you’re willing, the Inquisition could use your help.” 

“Yes. Helping,” he said almost brightly. “I help the hurt. The helpless.” His head tilted suddenly, as if listening to a distant sound. “There’s someone… Hurts, it hurts, it _hurts!_ Someone make it stop hurting! Maker, _please!_ ” The young rogue strode to the side of a gravely injured man- a deep wound across his belly and side. Cole pulled a small dagger from his belt then stilled, looking down at the feverish soldier uncertainly. “The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony.” Cole glanced to Fenria then, his face a mask of worry and indecision. “He wants mercy. _Help._ ” 

He seemed to be asking her permission, unable to move without her okay. The Inquisitor looked at the dying man. His face deathly white and sheathed in sweat. The muscles of his jaw and throat tight as he fought the agony that was ever so slowly killing him. Fenria’s eyes softened. In his position, she would want the mercy the danger offered, the mercy Cole claimed he asked for.

“All right,” she said quietly, compassionate eyes fixed on the dying Inquisition soldier. _Her_ soldier. “Help him.”

“It’s all right,” Cole whispered soothingly to the man as he crouched over him. Quickly and precisely the spirit boy slipped his dagger between the man’s ribs. The soldier didn’t so much as shudder. He simply stilled. His muscle loosening from their pain inspired rigor. His face smoothing as if he merely slept. Cole rose and looked up at the great walls of Skyhold, sunlight washing over his too-pale face. “I want to stay.”

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Cole,” Fenria smiled softly before excusing herself with a final glance at the dying, dead, and wounded, and paced back toward the others. “He stays,” she said simply. Cassandra’s gaze hardened and Vivienne’s disapproval was clear upon her features. “As long as he is here to help and does so, I will not turn him away.” 

Solas didn’t smile, not truly, but his chin lifted and his eyes sparkled. His gesture and expression no less powerful and just as wrought with intention as any Vivienne had employed. He had won their little contest of wills and they both knew it. Fenria gave him a hard warning look, which she then swept over all of them. 

“If he turns out to be a demon, to be of harm rather than good, we will deal with him as we must. But until then…” she glanced back at the spirit-boy still making his rounds among the cots. “Until then he is one of us. Simply another lost soul who has offered his aid to the Inquisition. We’ll leave it at that.” 

“A wise choice,” Solas said bowing his head to her politely. “That he may have the chance is all I ask.”

“We shall see just how wise when _it_ turns on us as _it_ inevitably will,” Vivienne said tersely. The elven woman pretended not to have heard the barb. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with my advisors.” Fenria bowed slight and turned to head back up the steps. Cassandra paced beside her, brows furrowed. “Speak plainly, Seeker,” Inquisitor said after a moment. “You do not agree with my choice?”

“I… am uncertain. No, I suppose I do not. Is it wise to let Cole move about Skyhold so freely?” The warrior asked.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Fenria shrugged. Cassandra eyed her appraisingly. 

“Yet you will allow him to?” The elf said nothing. “Spirits are not creatures to take at face value, Inquisitor. He may not mean harm, but that does not mean he will not harm us.” Fenria sighed. Deeply.

“We do not know what Cole is, Cassandra. He may, in fact, be something entirely new. Scary as that may be, I am unwilling to turn him away or kill him simply for being different. He has usual skills, granted, but he has not harmed anyone as far as I am aware. In fact, quite the opposite. Thus I see no reason to treat him in anyway different than our other friends and allies.” Cassandra’s lips pursed as the elf spoke, but she made no comment. Still Lavellan could all but feel the building storm of tense energy around the woman. Pausing mid-stair the Inquisitor turned to her friend. “Look, Cass, I’m not asking you to like it. And, by all means, keep an eye on him. I don’t necessarily trust him either. Not yet anyway. But it seems unfair not to afford him the same treatment we have given all others that have offered their aid to the Inquisition.” Fenria chuckled to herself gesturing around them. “For Creator’s sake, Seeker, we have a freaking Ben-Hassrath and his band of merry mercenaries headed by a Tevinter soldier traipsing about the place. There’s a spirit-talking, fade-walking elven apostate twenty paces that way. A Tevinter Altus hanging out in the library. And that’s just for starters.” Shaking her head in chortling bemusement, Fenria continued, “Cole should at least be afforded the same shot they all got. From there… well… I suppose your Maker will just have to sort it out.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, “but be cautious with him.” While she hadn’t been fully swayed by the elf, she had to admit that perhaps Fenria had a point. “And I _will_ watch him… when I can see him, that is.”

“Thank you, Seeker,” Fenria breathed with a small smile. They parted ways, the elf walking up the last few steps and into the Keep, the warrior back toward her corner of the training yard. It was only the mid-afternoon and already Fenria could use a drink. Thankfully, she’d accounted for that already. _A light at the end of the tunnel._

 

“You look… well you look like me when Orsino and Meredith wanted me to sort their mess out for them.”

“That good, eh? I’m doing better than I thought,” Lavellan said flopping unceremoniously into a chair in their chosen corner on the tavern’s dimly lit second floor. 

“Given that you got that reference I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’ve read Varric’s book. Either that or he has been _quite_ the storyteller around the fire.”

“How is ol’ Broody pants?” Fenria smirked, giving Hawke a sideways glance. The Champion burst out in a bright laugh.

“Still Broody. But he’s working on it.” She passed the elf a large tankard, which was gratefully accepted. “Long day?” 

“And it’s only my first.” 

“Vixen,” Varric asked hesitantly, “you didn’t happen to see the Seeker lurking around did you?” The elf fixed him with a hard edged stare. 

“Oh you mean the sword wielding, short tempered, occasionally homicidal warrior who has been dutifully _not_ killing you for the better part of a year, and whom has either just found out or will soon to find out she was lied to by a certain not-dead dwarf in rather ‘events of the world’ changing ways?” Varric gulped. 

“Well she sounds like a happy little ball of sunshine,” the Champion murmured into her mug as she sipped, eyes sparkling.

“No offense, Marian,” Lavellan added with a quick glance at rogue. 

“None taken,” she smirked, clearly a bit amused by the exchange, holding up a hand for Fenria to continue. 

“Yeah. Her.”

“No, Varric. I haven’t seen Cassandra since before my meeting with the Advisors. Were I you though, I would stay well clear of her for a while… possibly forever. P. S. Thanks for the ale.” She raised the tankard in toast and dank deeply. 

“Noted,” the rather paler than usual dwarf muttered. “And you’re welcome.” 

“Well, Hawke,” Fenria said lightly, setting her large mug off to one side and leaning forward to rest her elbows comfortably on the table, “I assume Varric here has been feeding you information about the Inquisition?”

“Perhaps,” Marian shrugged, grinning wolfishly.

“What did he say about me?”

“On that note, I need another drink,” the dwarf said, wandering off down the tavern stairs and over to the bar.

“Only good things, I promise,” the Champion assured after he’d left. “I was a little surprised, actually,” she continued, voice taking on a slightly more serious edge. “Varric isn’t one for religion in general, but he thinks highly of the Inquisition. I think the exact phrase was ‘has a good shot at fixing Blondie’s mess.’”

“Blondie? Oh right. Anders. What was _he_ like?” Hawke sighed sadly. Some deep part of her clearly still ached from the betrayal. 

“I don’t know if there ever was just an ‘Anders,’” she admitted. “He was crazy. By the end, there was nothing left in him except this insane need to start a war no one could win.” Lavellan looked down solemnly.

“I’m sorry. I know he was your friend.” Hawke smiled wanly. 

“I certainly thought he was. But the Anders I knew… The Anders I _thought_ I knew… was a wise cracking apostate healer. Sure he had an angsty streak a mild long. And trudging around with him and Fenris was like babysitting toddlers but…” she paused, shaking her head. Several emotions flickered over her shadowed features. Loss. Sorrow. Regret. Rage. “He used me to start a war. To kill innocence. That’s not what a healer does… nor a friend. And in turn, I killed him.” 

“Must have been hard.” Hawke shrugged.

“I suppose neither of us walked away with clean hands in the end.” 

“I’m not sure many of us do.” They were silent for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts. “I heard you had family and friends in Kirkwall. Where are they now?”

“When the Wardens began acting strangely, I had my friend Aveline take me sister out of the Free Marches,” she explained. Her expression changed to something both warm and withdrawn, “Fenris would have killed himself to protect me. I didn’t want to give him that chance.”

“So you and Fenris…? You’re still…?” Hawke nodded, her gaze becoming suddenly brighter. “Good name. Very wolfy. I like it.” Marian snorted. 

“Fenria. Fenris,” she singsonged. “Good thing you two look nothing alike apart from the ears or we’d all be really confused.” Lavellan chortled. The Champion’s eyes softened. “He’s a good man. Under all that bitter and broody exterior there is a warm gooey marshmallow. Don’t tell _him_ I said that though. It’d ruin his reputation.” She sighed, a light sound that seemed heavy somehow. “I miss him. It was been a while since we last saw one another, but he keeps in touch. And I must say his penmanship has improved greatly over the last several months.” They both chuckled for a moment before Hawke turn an appraising eye on Lavellan, elbowing her playfully. “How about you? Any warm body keeping you company on these dark mountain nights?” The tips of the elf’s ears flushed, as did her cheeks.

“No one as yet,” she admitted.

“Ah, but your cheeks tell a different tale,” Marian hummed, resting her chin in her palm expectantly. “I so rarely get to gossip these days and while Varric writes to me often… Well… Having been the subject of one of his novels, I’m disinclined to believe everything he tells me. That and the inside jokes are less effective when you don’t know the people involved.” Fenria chuckled, then sighed, fixing Hawke with a weary glare.

“If you must know, yes there is someone I have a fancy for.”

“Ooooh. Do tell, do tell. And don’t be stingy with the details,” the Champion said excitedly, waggling her fingers for emphasis. “Him? Her? Or other?”

“In this case, him,” Fenria laughed. 

She liked Marian Hawke. The woman was only marginally younger than Lavellan and her energy and tenuousness remained the elf a great deal of Ellana. They were the kind of souls that would be young at heart no matter their years or their trials in life. In her opinion, there were far too few folk of that nature. 

“Elf, human, dwarf, or… Oh! Is it the Qunari you mentioned before?”

“The Iron Bull?”

“Really?” Hawke asked surprised at the name. “Well I suppose it would be appropriate given the horns.” 

“No. Not him,” Fenria said, shaking her head. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fine looking man. But no. Solas is his name. The other elven apostate you may or mat not have seen wandering about.”

“Solas, solas, solas,” Hawke said drumming her fingers on her chin in thought. “The name seems familiar.” 

“Varric calls him Chuckles.”

“Ah! Yes. Tall for an elf. Bald. Interested in Fade things and spirits. Helped with the Breach. Bit of an odd duck.”

“Bingo,” Fenria nodded. “That’s him.”

“Met a dreamer once. A young man. Had to go into the Fade to rescue him from himself. Good kid though. Last I heard he was in Tevinter somewhere learning how to control his abilities.”

“The Circle didn’t take him?”

“Oh, they wanted too,” Hawke snorted derisively. “But I figured he deserved a chance. And hey, if he turned into an abomination at least he’d be doing it in Tevinter and not the Marches.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“So what’s the hold up with you and Mr. Dreamy?” Fenria shrugged. 

“The time will come when and if it is ready,” she said. “He seems to be carrying a great weight of some kind, slow to trust. Slow to let anyone in.” She shook her head and sighed. “I can’t really hold that against him. It’s not like I’m little Miss Open-book. Besides, I value his friendship more than anything.” Fenria hadn’t realize she’d fallen quiet, lost in her thoughts until Marian spoke. Her words were soft and deep. Heavy with meaning and wisdom and yet light with caring. 

“He makes you feel less alone. Perhaps even safe in a way you hadn’t thought you could know. Safe to be yourself. And you, in turn, want the same for him. Whether as friend or as lover.”

“Exactly,” Fenria breathed. “It is enough simply to know him.”

“I understand _that_ sentiment perfectly,” Hawke smiled at her. “And you’re right. When the time is right, it will be what it is meant to be.” Eyes sparkling with mirth she added wryly, “but perhaps it could hurry up. Just a bit. The nights _are_ rather chilly here and I’d hate for _you_ to have to wait three years. _Maker,_ that was a long wait… And _then_? _Another_ three!” Marian shook her head, hiding her face in her hand in mock exasperation. Lavellan all but choked on her ale in laughter. The sound bright and rueful. “Still worth it,” Hawke sighed, taking a long draft of ale. After a time she added, “I think he’d like you.” The Inquisitor glanced over in mild surprise. 

“Who? Fenris? I thought he had a thing against mages?”

“Oh he does,” Hawke conceded. “But he’s working on that too. He did stand with me to defend the mages in Kirkwall after all. Even if he _did_ complain the whole time. Can’t really blame him though, you know? Just like I don’t really blame Anders for being angry at the Circles. Hell, _I’m_ angry at the Circles… And the Chantry… And the Templars… But in any case, I think Fenris would like you. In his own way. Just a feeling. Call it intuition.” 

“Vixen? Yes. Chuckles? Maybe. Sparkler? Dead on sight,” Varric said as he seated himself once more, the contents of his mug sloshing. 

“Sparkler?” Hawker asked, one slim brow arching in amused question.

“He means Dorian Pavus,” Fenria clarified. “ _You’d_ love him, but he _is_ our resident high-class, high-fashion, highly educated Tevinter not-yet-magister who suffers from a near crippling case of curiosity.” The Champion made a sour face as though she’s just taken a large bite of unripe lemon. 

“Yeah, no. Probably best they not meet. Fenris is better on not wanting to kill mages on sight, but he still gets a little-”

“Homicidal?” Varric offered dryly.

“I was going to say ‘heart-rippy-outty-through-the-ribcagey,’ but we’ll go with ‘homicidal’ instead. More succinct.” Hawke nodded. “-when he gets too close to mages with Tevinter accents.”

“It’s a good thing neither of them are here then,” Fenria hummed, sipping from her mug. After a time she asked, “so where’d you go after the mages rebelled? I know you’ve become _quite_ the hard woman to track since then.” This time she winked at Varric, giving him a small smile. Yes he’d lied about being able to contact Hawke, but Fenria didn’t entirely blame him. Plus, he would get more than enough hell from Cassandra when the time came. The dwarf return the smile with a grateful nod. 

“I heard the Chantry might be sending an Exalted March to Kirkwall to put down the rebellion,” Hawke explained. “I hoped that leaving would save lives and force the Divine to divide her forces to come after me. As it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. All the Circles started rising up and the Exalted March never came.”

“And now we sit in a castle occupied by forces that defied the Chantry, that are in fact declared heretics who allied with the rebel mages, fled from a darkspawn Magister and his templar army, and who put a Dalish apostate in charge.” Lavellan paused in raising her mug to her lips to let out a little laugh. “It sounds so absurd when I say it out loud. The world really must be ending.”

“Or just beginning,” Hawke mused.

“Now that’s a perspective I can drink too.”


	52. Hissing Spats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Cassandra have it out over Hawke and a worn out Inquisitor ruffles some feathers she hadn't intended.

Above her, Lavellan could hear the scraping of furniture upon wooden floors, chairs being knocked over, tables pushed aside. She hurried up the stairs in time to see Cassandra grabbing Varric by the front of his shirt and shoving him against a rail. Hard. The timbers creaking from the impact. 

“You knew where Hawke was all along!” She accused.

_Welp. It was only a matter of time,_ the elf thought. It had taken rather longer than expected for the fight the take place, but Fenria as grateful in a way. The last few days it had felt as though a sword hung over their heads, a storm building, everyone holding their breath for the strike to come.

“You’re damned right I did!”

“You conniving little shit!” The Seeker swung drunkenly and the Inquisitor mused it was likely a good thing Cassandra had been so deep in her bottle when the dwarf finally showed his face. Were she sober, he’d probably already be dead.

“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” It would have been an opportune moment to intervene, but Lavellan held back. They need to have this out here and now. 

“I expected you to tell the _truth_ ,” Cassandra roared. There was a catch in her breath that hinted at the well spring of emotion beneath. “I _told_ you what was at stake!”

“So I just hand her over on your say so? ‘It’s okay, Hawke, this zealot isn’t crazy. I promise.’” The Seeker growled in frustrated rage and wheeled away. “Look at her,” Varric pleaded to Fenria. “She’s finally lost it.” Fenria glared back at him before stepping forward. 

“All right! You’ve both made your point.” Cassandra turned back to them. Her angry roar having become a vicious snarl.   

“We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Fereldan. But she had vanished. Then, we looked for Hawke, but she was gone too. We thought it all connected, but no.” The Seeker’s glare hardened on the dwarf. “It was just you. _You_ kept her from us! Hawke was our only hope. She was the Champion of Kirkwall. The mages respected her. And _you_ kept her from us."

“The Inquisition _has_ a leader,” Varric retorted sharply, gesturing to Lavellan.

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave. If anyone could have saved Most Holy…”

“You can’t change the past, Cassandra,” Fenria said gently but firmly. “Varric’s not responsible for what happened at the Conclave.”

“So I must accept… _what_? That the Maker wanted all this to happen? That he… That he…” Cassandra seemed dangerous closed to tears, the anguish of the Divine’s death resurfacing with interest. It broke Fenria’s heart to see that pain, that sorrow. The warrior’s features darkened into something quite unpleasant. “Varric is a _liar_ , Inquisitor. A _snake_. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret.”

“She’s with us now,” the dwarf protested. “We’re on the same side!”

“We all know who’s side you’re on, _Varric_. It will never be the Inquisitions.”

“That’s unworthy of you,” Fenria said sharply, fixing a hard look at the Seeker. “Varric’s earned his right to be here, Cassandra. Attacking him now won’t help us.”

“Thank you,” the dwarf said exasperatedly. 

“And you,” the elf said turning to him. “For your own sake and ours, I hope you aren’t hiding anything else.” 

“Gah. I understand.” Varric didn’t look pleased but he subsided. As did the Seeker. 

“I must not think of what could have been. We have so much at stake,” Cassandra said quietly, her back to them as she leaned on a railing. “Go, Varric. Just… Go.” The dwarf looked between them, Lavellan giving him a light encouraging nod. He turned to leave, but paused just at the top of the stairs. 

“You know what I think?” He said darkly. “If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead too. You people have done enough to her.” With that, he left. 

“I… _Believed_ him,” Cassandra said into the stillness that followed. “He spun his story for me and I swallowed it.” She walked over to one of the few upright chairs remaining and sat heavily upon it. Lavellan followed, crouching before her. A ready ear for her friend. “If I’d just explained what was at stake… If I’d just made him understand… But I didn’t, did I? I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.” She shook her head in dismay. “I am such a fool.”

“What if you hadn’t believed him,” Fenria asked gently, head titling in curiosity, “and you tracked Hawke down?”

“Honestly?” Cassandra sighed, meeting the elf’s gaze. “Hawke might not have even agreed to becoming Inquisitor. She supported the mage rebellion after all. She wouldn’t have trusted me for a second.” She looked down ashamed, suddenly unwilling to meet the Inquisitor’s eyes. “But this isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric… Not truly. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter. I don’t deserve to be here.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Cass,” Lavellan soothed, reaching up to rest a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. 

“Not hard enough, I think.”

“You can’t believe that. Have you looked at our Inquisition?” The Dalish elf smiled wryly gesturing around them. “We’re all fools here.” Cassandra actually chuckled at that. A small fragile sound perhaps, but Fenria was going to count it as a win.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“More at home maybe,” she shrugged.

“I want you to know,” Cassandra said, warm hazel eyes meeting summer green once more so the elf might feel the full weight of whatever came next, “I have no regrets. Maybe if we’d found Hawke or the Hero of Fereldan the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send you. But he did.” She rose and the Inquisitor rose with her. “You are… _not_ what I pictured. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing. I don’t know what is to come, but… you’re more than I could have hoped for and what I believe we need.” Fenria nodded in warm acknowledgement and excused herself. Cassandra followed her from the loft and made for the wet stone as the elf slipped from sight out the door. 

 

Satisfied that Cassandra’s rage had been slated for now, Fenria set off in search of Varric. She found him where she excepted, by one of the fire’s in the main hall. He glanced up at her briefly as she came in, but said nothing, quickly looking away.

“Things got a little… _heated_ back there,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “You all right?” 

“Well. That depends,” Varric breathed. “How angry is Cassandra?”

“She’s calmed down a bit. Enough I think you can take your hand off your crossbow.” Varric tried to smile, but the strain in his featured pulled the expression to something more resembling a grimace. 

“Defined ‘calmed down’ for me in terms of who or what she’s punching right now.” He sighed, shaking his head even as he straighten from where he leaned against the table and turned to face her. “I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important at the time.” 

“You could have told us about Corypheus sooner,” she said gently, a light tease to her words. 

“I found out he was involved at the exacted same time you did,” Varric sighed. “Until he showed up at Haven, I thought he was dead. Nothing we saw at the summit made me think he’d been there.” 

“I know, Varric,” Fenria said, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder just as she’d done the Seeker’s. “You never would have kept quiet otherwise.” His smile was weak but grateful. 

“I keep hoping… none of this is real,” he grumbled. “Maybe it’s all some bullshit from the Fade and it’ll all just… disappear.” He looked up at the elven woman, meeting her eyes much the same way Cassandra had. A gesture that implied what followed was heartfelt and well-meant. “I know I need to better. I’m sorry.” Fenria took his hand in hers and squeezed. 

“Care to join me for dinner?” She asked cheerfully, changing the topic.

“I’m not all that hungry to be honest,” the dwarf shrugged. “Recent events have… put me off my appetite.” Fenria squeezed his hand again, smiling hopefully.

“Join me anyway? I could use the company and I’d love to hear one of your tales if you’re willing.” This seemed to brighten his mood at least a little.

“Say did I ever tell you about the time Daisy…” He begun as they wandered out of the great hall and toward the tavern. 

 

The sun’s warmth and color had long ago vanished below the horizon when the Inquisitor wandered into the rotunda. Solas straightened from where he had been pouring over the stacks of books and artifacts on his desk, looking up at her curiously. 

“Something I can do for you, Inquisitor?” He asked politely if a bit startled. 

It was quite late after all. Not that he minded her appearance over much. In truth, he had seen little of Fenria since she had been named Inquisitor, even less so since the confrontation over Cole. Only catching brief greetings as she passed through the rotunda on her way to places else. He had to admit he’d missed their conversations in the meanwhile, but he’d rather anticipated being left alone for the remainder of the evening given how quiet the keep had become over the last several hours. 

“I need to know more about Corypheus,” she replied without preamble. 

Dinner with Varric had been more for the dwarf’s benefit than her own and now as the night closed in once more, Lavellan felt that familiar dread sink in. The weight of doubts she held at bay during the day, but that came in an overwhelming wave whenever she stilled. Her companions’ concerns only adding to her own. 

Vivienne, Blackwall, and Sera had all cornered her at one point in time or another over the past few days to share their thoughts. Each in their own way. Vivienne had admonished the poor planning at Haven that had left them open to attack. A grim observation Lavellan shared. That the elf had acknowledged the short coming was met with approve by the Enchantress, who then suggested she strike first so that their enemies might fear the Inquisition. It was a decent plan and one Fenria intended to make use off in her way. And while she loathed the loss of life this struggle would no doubt claim, for once Vivienne’s words had been a sort of some comfort. She was right that these people were here to help the Inquisition in anyway they could, to do its bidding. They understood what that might mean. Though Lavellan rather felt it was her duty to spend their ‘help’ as wisely as possible. 

It was a sentiment Blackwall had echoed, though perhaps in a marginally more uplifting way than the Enchanter. He was confident the Inquisition would over come Corypheus -something Fenria struggle with even if she said otherwise publicly- and assured her that confidence came in part because of his faith in her. Whether she was divinely touched or not, the people needed her to be and that need was enough to make her so and in turn gave them strength. 

Comparatively, Sera had been a breath of fresh air with her palpable fear and nervous mutterings about how all of this had gone horribly sideways. _“Andraste, what’d I step in?”_ pretty much sum up Lavellan’s own thought’s on the matter. And for once she found her own feelings closely mirrored those of the younger elf. If any of what Corypheus said was true, if the orb really was the foci of an elven god… that meant… that _could_ mean… that it was all _real_! The Old Gods, the Elvhen Gods, the Maker… All, some, most of it… could be true. And if it was true, what did that make her? If there had been a hole to crawl in, Sera may very well have had to make room for two before closing it in. But there was no hole and no running. Not for Fenria. 

After those nightmare inducing conversations, the thoughts they inspired, the fight between Cassandra and Varric, and the relative little Hawke had been able to give her, Fenria was in desperate need of answers. At the very least, someone to talk to. But as she walked through Skyhold it seemed all whom she would turn to had gone to sleep. That was until she had spied the faint glow in the rotunda. 

“We spoke of this on our travels to Skyhold. What more can I tell you?” Solas said, a crease forming between his brows at her shortness. “Cassandra and Varric seem more familiar with our adversary-” The elven woman cut him off with a single dark chime of derisive laughter, massaging her temples. Her head was still pounding, ears still ringing for those two’s childish antics. 

That was perhaps a little uncharitable, she reflected. They both had reasons for their actions and reactions after all. But at the moment, the Inquisitor was willing to indulge in some ‘petty childishness’ of her own.

“Oh I’ll take advise from just about anyone right now,” Fenria said dryly. Solas’s lips pursed. 

“I’m flattered,” he said in a toned that indicated he was anything but as he once more looked down at his notes. 

“Have I offended you?” The Inquisitor asked after a heavy pause, mildly taken aback. 

“Not at all,” he snorted without mirth. Solas glanced up briefly to bob his head in a slight bow and… _did he just curtsy?_ “I am, of course, here to serve.” 

Lavellan simply stood starring at him in shock as he went back to whatever task he’d been attending before she arrived. A brief flash of anger at his demeanor was followed by a moment of insight and she felt like a fool. An impolite, abrasive fool. It was late and he was clearly in the middle of something. Not to mention the first thing she says to him - after saying quiet little recently- was an immediate demand for his time and knowledge. _My mother would be appalled by my rudeness,_ she sighed. 

“Forgive me my tempter, Lethallan, I meant no offense,” Fenria said finally, features softening as she took a few tentative steps toward him. “Ir abelas.” Her apology caused him to pause and look up, straightening fully when he saw her expression. “You’ve given me good council before, Solas. And if you have time,” she gestured at his rather full desk, “I could use some now.” Head bowing, Fenria kneaded a tender spot between her brows where a migraine had taken firm root, fingers of her marked hand wrapping unconsciously around her necklace for comfort. “More than ever I could use some now,” she muttered to herself bare above a whisper. 

It was then Solas noticed the creases at the corners of her eyes in his candle light. The shadows like subtle bruises beneath them. She was exhausted. He felt rather like an ass at that moment. Of course she’d come to him… _Eventually._ She’d made rather a habit of doing so over their time together, had she not? Did he really believe that would change now that she had taken on even greater burdens? That it would _lessen_ of all things? He had let his concerns over the orb and its current misuse cloud his thoughts to the point of blinding him, causing him to lash out when his late-night studies were interrupted by sudden mentions of that accursed Magister.

“My apologizes, Inquisitor,” he said bowing deeply to her. “My poor manners shame me.” Solas motioned to the high backed chair beside him. Fenria nodded gratefully and he pulled it out for her. “I claim no secret wisdom,” he said as she sat, moving around to face her, “but I will guess bested I can.” 

“That is all I ask. Honestly, it is all any of us have been able to do at this point anyway,” she sighed. “I’d like to know more about the orb he carries. You mentioned it might be elven, which means you officially know more on the topic than any of the rest of us. Perchance do you have any other knowledge of the object?” He nodded, pulling a sketch from one of his books and handing it to her to study. 

“As I said, that must be the means by which he created the Breach,” the tall elf replied leaning one hip against his desk, arms crossed casually over his chest. “I suspect the blast that destroyed the Conclave was more accident than anything. The result of unlocking power that sought release for ages. What _I_ cannot understand is how he managed to survive such an explosion.”

“And it’s elven? You’re certain of that?” Fenria asked as she passed back the page. Again he nodded, this time more slowly. Thoughtfully.

“I never would have believed a Tevinter mage could unlock such a powerful relic.” His tone was a dark, vicious snarl that somewhat surprise Fenria in its sudden intensity though she did not think overly much of it. Mind too muddled and foggy feeling to make more than a footnote of it. “It clearly enhances his abilities. Giving him access to power he should never have known.”

“The power to control the archdemon,” the dalish woman mused.

“Indirectly one assumes,” Solas said with roll of one hand. “Nothing in any lore connects my people to the Old God dragons that became archdemons.” 

“Well that’s comforting to know,” she sighed. The Inquisitor paused for a moment as if ordering her thoughts then asked, “pure hypothetical here, but what do _you_ think Corypheus will do next?” It was Solas’s turn to think for a long moment before answering, chin resting in the fingers of one hand. 

“You shamed him when you destroyed Haven,” the elven man said finally in a quiet, reserved tone. “Spoiled his glorious victory. It would be worse to acknowledge that you had done so. He must continue on his course or show weakness. He will return to his plans to throw Orlais into chaos, then conquer it for Tevinter.”

“You’re sure that’s what he’ll do?”

“As certain as is possible,” Solas smirked with a shrug of one shoulder. “Assuming _I_ can plausibly predict a man who seeks to rise to godhood.”

“And _can_ you,” Fenria asked, an eyebrow quirking as she stared up at him. The question had been intended as jest, but there was a deep hungry need, a fear just behind her eye that Solas saw eating away at her even as she buried it. She needed something, anything to cling to as fact. A foot hold. Some tiny shred. 

“The key is understanding this,” he said intently, hoping it would be enough. “No _real_ god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying.” Solas’s voice became more distant then, expression changing to match, and somehow Fenria felt the next words were not meant for her at all. “His deception will undo him. As it has done countless fools before.”

“Some days I feel as though I might be one of those fools,” Lavellan said mildly. _Like today. Or a few days ago when I took this job. What was I thinking?_ “But, anyway… From what you’ve told me or at least hinted at, Corypheus probably had some juice behind him already in order to unlock the orb. Anything you can tell me or guess about the source of his power?” The Fade-walker shrugged slightly. 

“According to the lore, the ancient Magisters of Tevinter received guidance from the Old Gods,” came his pensive reply. “Corypheus commands a false archdemon. A corrupted old god. This suggests he no longer sees himself as their minion.”

“A valid thought. The man certainly has a flare for the overly dramatic,” Lavellan nodded. “Something Tevinter has not lost to the ages it seems.” Her eyes flicked up to the usual haunt of the Inquisition’s favorite flashy northerner. “Granted, I doubt there is enough wine in the world to wrangle Dorian into those leggings and heels. So last millennium. _His_ would be far more fashionable.” Solas huffed a breathy laugh. 

“For some sensibilities of ‘fashionable,’ I assume.” Fenria chuckled and it heartened him to hear her laugh and make light of something that so deeply terrified her. It was perhaps one aspect that had drawn the others to her as both leader of their little band of misfits and eventual leader of the Inquisition. _Joke as you will, posturing it necessary._ He mused over the phrase. One he had uttered some time ago. It was no less true today than it had been then. More so even. “But to answer your question, some of Corypheus’s unique power comes from the corruption of the Blight. The rest may come from the orb he carries.” 

“As horrifying as that sounds, I suppose it makes sense,” the elven woman breathed. “As much as anything makes sense of late.” Fenria relaxed back into the chair and gazed up at the half painted murals marking one wall, a small smile tugging at her lips. Solas was pleased to see her features smooth as she looked upon his work. He enjoyed that she’d made frequent comments on their progress as she passed by in the course of her duties, stopping for a few minutes here and there to admire them before rushing off. Stolen moments that he would remember. “Well as much as it may seem it, I didn’t come up here just to talk about corrupted magisters.” 

“Oh?” he chuckled, one eyebrow arching in amusement. “What else would you have of me at this late hour?” Fenria’s eyes shone in the dim light as they came to rest on him. There was more heat to gaze than he might of expected, a flash of fire quickly contained and subdued until he was unsure he had seen it at all. 

“I’m interested in what you told me of yourself and your studies,” she hummed. “If you have time, I’d like to hear more.”

“You continue to surprise me,” he said warmly, a smile gracing his lips. She had shown more genuine interest in him than any other he had met, seeking his company for the sake of it as much as for the knowledge he held. It both flattered and intrigued him in kind. “Alright. Let us talk.” Solas straighten and offered his hands to Fenria to help her rise. She took them gladly. “Preferably somewhere more interesting than this.” He studied the shadows beneath her eyes and added, “And perhaps after you have rested.” 

“That a promise?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

He walked her out of the rotunda, across the main hall, and to the door of her chamber to ensure she actually went to bed instead of seeing to some other newly appointed duty. Then Solas returned to his study to finish his notes before he too retired for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallan = friendly name- similar to kin or cousin  
> Ir abelas = I'm sorry


	53. When You Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Fenria finally get to spend some quality time together. A development that holds surprises for both them.

The village of Haven was still sleepy and quiet in the early morning light. Looking for all the world like some ageless painting done in subtle hues of blue and gold. Snow twirled lazily through the air, smoke rising from chimneys in gentle curls. Every now and again a stray breeze stirred an evergreen branch. The snow falling from it in a cloud of sparkling white, landing upon the ground with a muffled thump. It was peaceful. Beautiful. Even with the Breach swirling lazily overhead. 

“Why here?” Fenria asked as she and Solas strolled up the main path toward the little Chantry. She kept her voice lowered as to not disturb the villagers likely still sleeping or only now rising in the cabins around them. Solas smiled faintly glancing over at her. Quietly amused by something. All the while remaining half a step ahead, leading. 

“Haven is familiar,” he said simply, looking forward once more. “It will always be important to you.”

“We talked about that already,” Fenria replied. Try as she might to keep her tone light she failed, the words lilting. A familiar ache settled in. One she felt every time she thought of this place. 

So much had happened here. So much had changed. So much had been lost. For a time it had been her home. Perhaps an unchosen one at first, but she had grown used to it. Its sounds, its smells, its people. They had become hers just as much as the tiny cabin off the side road had become hers. 

In truth, it had been the first ‘home’ she could truly have claimed as her own. Clan Lavellan, like most Dalish clans, were wanders. While they followed many of the same trails throughout the year, they had no land of their own and Fenria had spent more time than not sleeping under the open sky rather than in any roofed structure. There were the aravel, of course, but they were not the same as a cabin or house. Serving the whole clan not just an individual. But that little hut, with it’s gapping boards and drafty window had been hers and it had been lavish compared even to her childhood home in Starkhaven. And now, it too was lost to to her. _I could’ve done more… I should have done more,_ she thought bitterly. She must have given voice to the frustrated snarl she felt for when Fenria looked up from her dark musings Solas was staring at her, expression no longer assumed. 

His head tilted ever so slightly to one side, eyes compassionate, sad even. “Are you all right?” the looked seemed to say, but something in it was deeper than that. It said that he knew that she wasn’t, that she may never be, and he didn’t expect to her be. For some reason, Lavellan felt the weight of that gaze more than she had expected. The quiet kindness of it… the _understanding._

She shook herself and nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to steady her nerves and refocus her mind. 

The pair walked deeper into the village, up the stairs toward the Chantry. There Solas walked past the main door and held open the smaller entry to the cells below the worn stone building. Fenria crossed over the threshold and together they made their way through the dungeons to the chamber in which Lavellan had been held all those months ago. Her heavy chains still lay in the center of the dim room. Torchlight glinted off the rusted metal and she could all but feel their weight upon her. 

The Dalish apostate shivered. Something that had nothing to do with the cold. 

“I sat beside you while you slept,” Solas said beside her as they stared together at the spot where Fenria had been bound, “studying the anchor.”

“How long can it take to look at a mark on my hand,” the Lavellan asked, one slender eyebrow quirking playfully upward though the question was genuine. 

“A magical mark of unknown origin?” Solas’s own brows rose, hands gesturing expressively. “Tied to a unique breach in the Veil?” He smiled wryly with the slightest hint of mock exhaustion. “Longer than you might think.” Staring into the empty cell, expression distant, lost in memory, he sighed. “I ran every test I could imagine. Searched the Fade, yet found nothing.” He shook his head in remembered frustration. “Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”  

“Cassandra’s like that with everyone,” Fenria grimaced. The elven man laughed at that. Genuinely laughed. Clear crisp notes that echoed off the stone walls. 

“Yes,” he nodded in agreement, still chuckling. Turning, Solas motioned Lavellan to follow. “You were never going to wake up,” he shrugged in dismay as they climbed the steps and walked into the sunlight. It was less glaring now than it had been when Cassandra had led her from the catacombs. “How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade?” He sighed, his brow furrowing in an look Lavellan had come to know as vexation. “I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra. Nor she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“The Breach threatened the whole world,” Fenria pointed out. “Where did you plan to go?”

“Some place far away,” he replied heavily, “where I might research a way to repair the Breach before its affects reached me.” The Inquisitor looked at him doubtfully, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. Solas let out a little snort of a laugh. “I never said it was a _good_ plan.” 

They walked farther down the deserted path. Snow drifting around them, stirring gently where the wind caught the flakes. It was nice to simple walk with Solas, Fenria thought. To have a few moments peace to simply _be,_ and to share those moments with him. There had been so little time of late. Something Fenria hoped would soon change. She missed her friends. Missed spending time with them, talking to them, laughing with them. She enjoyed her time with her fellow elven apostate most. _Though Dorian is perhaps growing to be a close second._ It was so easy to be near them. To talk, or read, or write, or study, or any number of other things- just to linger in their presence. It was something she had grown to love since the Conclave. Something that reminded her of home, though perhaps in a new and different way. 

The elves paused on the path where the spacing in the trees afforded them the best view of the Breach, gazing up at the menace that had been such a large part of their daily lives for so long. Solas reach out suddenly and dramatically toward the whirling green of the torn heavens.

“I told myself, ‘one more attempt to seal the rifts.’” His hope filled face fell with despair along with the outstretched arm. “I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them,” he said with a shake of his head. “I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigning myself to flee, then…” 

Images of the first rift Fenria had sealed flashed through her thoughts. _Solas, then a man she did not know, grabbing her wrist and thrusting it at the tear in the Veil. The magics warring, angry and spitting. The anchor winning. The rift sealing with a blast. Excess power washing over them in a wave._ It was as if she were there once more. The sounds, the smells, the feelings. Just as quickly as they’d had come, the memories faded. 

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture,” Solas said, turning bright eyes on the dalish woman who stood just behind him. “And right then, I felt the whole world _change_.” Fenria’s stomach did a flip. 

“‘Felt the whole world change?’” she asked, the shadow of a smile pulling at her lips. Head tilting in playful curiosity, she took a small step closer to Solas and was amused, and more than a little intrigued, to see the very tips of his ear begin to blush.

“A figure of speak,” he replied a little too quickly, glancing to the side as he tried and failed to keep himself from smiling. The expression was utterly endearing.

“I am aware of the metaphor,” Lavellan said taking another hesitant step closer, drawing his attention. Her emerald eye lingered briefly on his lips, wondering what they tasted like. In truth, she had wondered for months. Since she had still been _Lani Lavellan_ to him. Since she’d sat on the waterlogged, battle torn earth of the Hinterlands, exhausted and sore, healing his wounds and praying his concussion wasn’t as bad as she feared. Since the feel of his skin beneath her fingers as she willed her power into him. Since she’d felt the push of his will against hers and opened her eyes to find him staring into them. “I’m more interested in _‘felt.’_ ” The last word was little more than the ghost of a purr. 

The Dalish woman continued her slow advance and Solas held his ground. Rooted to the spot, neither advancing to meet her nor backing away. Fenria stopped just in front of him, chest mere inches from his. Their breaths coming quicker with each passing heartbeat. His eyes searched her face, drank her in. The sweeping arches of her vallaslin. Her high cheek bones and delicately pointed chin.

“You change… _everything_ ,” Solas breathed. The catch in his words lending them greater weight than they might have held otherwise. A sense of a truth and a hunger long held, fighting to break free.

“Sweet talker,” she hummed, a smile curling the words. His eyes were so blue, so rich, Fenria though she might drown in their depths. She rested a hand against the side of Solas’s neck. Rising onto her toes, she brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. They were cool from the mountain air, but warmth lingered there as well. The kiss was chaste thing. An invitation. Little more. 

The elven man didn’t respond immediately as she had excepted him to, remaining stiff and reserved, and in that tiny faction of a second she began to doubt. _What if I was wrong? What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I read him wrong and have just hopeless complicated an otherwise wonderful friendship?_ She began to pull away, mortification and dread taking firm root. _Fen’Harel, take me! I am such a fool!_

Solas was surprised by the kiss, by the Inquisitor's forwardness. Though, in retrospect, he supposed he shouldn’t have been. A voice in the back of his mind whispered that he should not encourage this, that he should let her go, let her turn away. But he saw Fenria’s face fall, felt her withdrawing from him as though burned, embarrassment and shame seeping into her baring, and his heart twisted with the weight of his loneliness. 

It saw, in her, a mirror of its pain. And it saw relief. All but roaring in fury and frustration at the thought of her slipping away.

Silencing the warning voice with a soft hungry growl, Solas caught the Dalish woman about the waist, turning her to him with gentle pressure, drawing her in, thigh pressed between hers. Long fingers tangled in the soft hair the base of her neck, he tilted her head back, mouth closing over hers.

Lavellan stiffened for the briefest instant, taken aback by the sudden heat of Solas’s embrace, the strength of it, before giving in and melting against him. One hand resting over the crest of his forward hip, the other upon the back of his neck, both tender yet giving her greater leverage. He smelled of the forests she used to hunt without fear, of the dusty books that lined the library walls. Comforting and wild. His lips were soft against her. Sweet like summer rain. 

Solas withdrew slightly, studying the Inquisitor, a lazy, wolfish grin touching his lips. She was beautiful. In far more ways than he could ever describe. Fenria ‘Lani’ Lavellan, the dalish elf who would change the world, who already had in so many ways, his especially, smiled playfully at him, giggling almost girlishly around quicken breaths. Though the timbre was deeper and fuller than any child. Headier. A honey sweet promise of things only imagined. The surprise she’d felt still marked her features, though it was quickly being replaced with emotions of a different sort. Excitement. Joy. Desire. Blushing lips a richer shade of red for their kissing. Cheeks faintly flushed. His smile deepen, a low growl rising in his chest. They enfolded each other once more, eagerly seeking the relief the other offered, intertwining in the cool mountain air. 

They stayed like that for a time, relishing in the taste of each other’s lips, the weight of one another in their arms. Their loneliness forgotten if only for a instant. If it could have gone on forever, Fenria wouldn’t have minded. Here, with him, she could be herself. No need to hide behind a mask, though she well knew there was much still much left unsaid. Possibly never to be said at all. For both of them. 

“We shouldn’t!” Solas said, pulling away abruptly, shattering the blissful stillness along with their embrace. “It isn’t right.” The dalish woman stared at him in confusion, arms falling loosely to her sides. It was as if a gulf had suddenly opened between them, catching her off balance. “Not even here.” 

“What do you mean ‘even here?’” she asked perplexed. 

“Where do you think we were,” he replied, gesturing around them with an amused grin. The sudden coldness of his voice warming again to something bright and almost impish, though the separation between them remained. 

“This… isn’t real,” Fenria realized, staring at the still open Breach in the sky and the untarnished structures around them. The sun had risen higher and yet the village still lay silent apart from the two elves and the creaking of the trees. There should have been others milling about by now. Haven awake and bustling. _How did I not notice before?_ Surely she had, she had simply… _What? Glossed over the details?_

“That’s a matter of debate,” Solas said barely containing his chuckle at her dawning revelation. Her facial expression was quite priceless and more than a little enchanting. “Probably best discussed after you… _Wake up_.”

 

As if by the snap of some god’s fingers, Inquisitor Lavellan came to in the modest bed she had been provided in the overly lavish chamber that had been assigned to her. Sitting bolt upright, she was greeted by the morning sun shining through the holes in the weathered windows, rendering her temporarily blinded. 

Eyes shut tight against the glare, images began flashing across her mind. Solas. Their conversation in the rotunda. A promise to continue it after she had gotten some rest. Haven. And… The kiss. 

She had kissed him! More importantly, he had kissed her back! Sure he’d pulled away, but… Her fingers ran across her lips, relishing the memory, then she let out a positively girlish squeal, muffling the sound in a lumpy pillow. Her feet kicking in delight beneath the blankets. He had _kissed_ her! 

Fenria threw back the covers. Hastily donned her clothes before hurrying over to the small mirror leaning against one wall and wrangling her matted tresses back into something socially acceptable. She was being positively foolish really. Behaving like some adolescent kissed by her first crush rather than an experienced woman in her late thirties. Though, at that moment, she cared rather little. 

Satisfied with her appearance- it was as good as it was going to get without a bath, and what was the point of that when she was scheduled to train with the soldiers in a few hours- the elf schooled her expression into something marginally regal and authoritative and hurried from her chambers. 

The main hall was still quiet, though people were already setting to their tasks. A few shadowed tables were occupied with soldiers and agents eating breakfast or going over orders. Lavellan nodded to them as she passed, making her way to the rotunda in the hopes Solas would be there. He was. 

“Sleep well?” he asked politely as she strode into the room, a quiet smirk making his lips curl up at the edges. 

“Quite,” Fenria replied with a brilliant smile, striding over to lean against his desk. “I’ve never done anything like _that_ before.” She snorted before adding, “on a… number of levels.” The elven man chuckled.

“I apologize,” he said with a little bow of his head. “The kiss was impulsive and ill considered. And I should not have encouraged it.”

“You say that,” Fenria hummed, an eyebrow raising, “but _you’re_ the one who started with tongue.”

“I did no such thing!” He said too quickly, eyes widening. She laughed. The sound was warm and bright in still quiet castle.

“Oh, does it not count if it’s only _fade-tongue_ ,” Lavellan teased, shifting her weight as she spoke, hips swaying slightly. A motion not lost on Solas. 

“It has been a long time,” he conceded, tone cautious and reserved. “And things have always been… _easier_ for me in the Fade.” He paused, shaking his head, brows knitting as if torn by some internal struggle. “I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” the dalish woman replied, her smile inviting, “if you are.” 

“I… Maybe… Yes,” he stumbled. “If I could take a little time to think.” His look was hesitant, filled with doubt of some kind and yet hope flickered beneath. “There are… considerations.” Fenria nodded. 

“Take all the time you need,” she said simply. 

“Thank you,” the fade-walker sighed in relief. “I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams. But am reasonably certain we are awake now. And if you wish to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking,” he added in a lighthearted tone. 

“With a pleasant invitation like that, how can I refuse?” She paused in thought for a moment before asking, “Have you eaten yet?” 

“Not as yet, no.” 

“Fancy that. Neither have I. My routine was… a little hastier than usual this morning.”

“I see,” Solas said, a smile touching his eyes. “Perhaps we should continue this with breakfast?”

“I like the way you think, Fade-walker,” she hummed as she straightened and he rose. They made their way toward the kitchens, side-by-side. “Having done… whatever that was we did last night, makes me more curious than ever before about the places you’ve explored in the Fade. I mean _that_ was amazing even without the…” Her brow arched mischievously and a small chuckle escaped Solas despite himself. “I’d love to hear more about what you’ve seen. If you’re willing, that is,” Fenria said, as they walked down the narrow steps to one of Skyhold’s many lower levels. 

“I would be happy to share them with you,” Solas smiled.

Below he could hear the sounds of the bustling kitchen staff going about their morning chores. A woman in a flour dusted apron pushed through the door at the base of the stairs and started heading upward carrying a large bowl heaped of rolls. The woman glanced up and visibly jumped at the sight of them. A roll tumbled from her load, but Lavellan caught it before it could land. 

“G’morning, Inquisitor,” the woman said quickly. “Beggin’ your pardon.” She made to step aside, but Lavellan motioned her through while flattening her back against the wall to make room. Solas following suit.

“You look like you have quite the armful there. Don’t let me hold you up.” The woman bobbed a curtsy. “They smell wonderful by the way,” Lavellan said, offering the roll back as the roll-maker passed. 

“Thank you, Your Worship,” she replied proudly, motioning for Fenria to keep it. “I make them myself.” And then she was gone. 

Lavellan lifted the roll to her nose and took a deep breath, sighing happily, then tore it in half and handed a portion to Solas. He accepted gratefully and the two of them continued downward. Fenria let out a rather undignified groan of pleasure as she chewed a bit of her piece. Solas’s eyebrow quirked as he looked down at her chuckling softly. She stiffen and glanced at him sheepishly having temporarily forgotten he was there. 

“I really need to asked her for the recipe for these,” she said. “They’re so light and fluffy. I think there is a hint of…” she savored her bite thoughtfully, “… rosemary, maybe?” Fenria shook her head lightly. “She doesn’t make them except maybe once a week and I rarely ever get one while they’re still warm. Forgive me my… lapse in decorum,” she apologized.

In response, Solas took a bite of his own portion, chewing it slowly, expression aloof and skeptical. After a few seconds his features melted into those of blissful contentment. He nodded.

“Rosemary,” he said decisively after swallowing. “Perhaps the fluffy nature has something to do with how the dough is worked?” He studied the bit still trapped between his fingers closely before devouring it as well. “The price for a recipe so precisely mastered must be a great indeed. It has surely taken years, if not generations to perfect.” 

“You’re teasing me.”

“I wouldn’t _dare_ mock the Inquisition’s famed leader so openly.” Fenria glowered, unimpressed. His lip twitched in amusement, eye sparkling. “But… perhaps I would a friend,” he conceded. The Inquisitor nudged him playfully in the ribs, popping the last piece of roll in her mouth and opening the door to the kitchen. “Still I won’t fault you your enthusiasm. They _are_ quiet delicious.” 

“I’m sure Lydian will be glad to hear you think so,” called the head chef over the noise of working staff. 

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the kindly, if currently red faced and harried, chef to throw together a few things and hurry the elves from the kitchen with a basket in hand. 

“You said you’ve explored old ruins?” Fenria asked, steering them back to their previously discussion as they climbed back up the stairs. 

“Yes. Many.”

“Tell me about one?” she asked with a hopeful smile, gesturing in question to the door on the far side of the main hall. Solas nodded, following her as she led the way to the overgrown garden where she’d grown accustom to taking some of her meals. It likely wouldn’t remain her solitary refuge for long given her plans for it, but for now she could dine in relative peace away from most prying eyes.

“I found the ruin of Barindur.” 

“Barindur?” Fenria lowered herself comfortably to the stonework at the top of a low set of steps. Her back rested against one wall of the archway that acted as the entry to the garden below, one leg tucked up in front of her, the other stretching over the steps.

“A lost Tevinter city buried deep beneath a dead and barren wasteland,” Solas explained as he sat opposite her, the basket between them. The Inquisitor began digging through it as he spoke, handing him a cloth laden with fruits, cheeses, and a bit of bread. “Volcanic ash had sealed it tight. In one dark moment, every living creature in the city sealed in silence. They were statues in the ashes. Like a mold made to recall the lost.”

“Sounds beautiful,” Fenria said quietly as she sat back and looked at him, “and sad.”

“Indeed. It was both.” 

They sat in silence as they ate. Song birds lending a soothing soundtrack to the new day as they flitted about the garden gathering materials for their nests high on the parapets. 

“You showed me one of your memories in the Fade, correct?” Lavellan asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“One that we share, but yes,” the dream-walker replied.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” she snorted, hands out stretching expressively. “Though I suppose it must be, given that… it happened.” She picked at a bit of cheese idly before eating it. “I mean, yes, technically mages can interact with the dream realm and even lucid dream… And there are stories of our ancestors entering Uthenera… I’m sure they must have had the ability or something like it…” Fenria shook her head, clearly overwhelmed. “We’ll come back to that later. I’m not sure where I’d even begin with those questions at the moment.” Solas smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement. He supposed it was rather a new experience for her and yet he was please she seemed fascinated by it rather than in fear of it, that she thirsted to learn more even if she could not yet focus her thoughts on what to ask. “So, for now, I guess I’m curious about what other memories you’ve encountered. Old things laying hidden deep within the Fade.” Solas huffed a breathy chuckle, gaze turning to the steadily warming sky above.

“I saw a savage human horde go marching toward the battlefront,” he said distantly. “They sang a soldier’s hymn to keep formation. The primal music shook the ground.” He met the elven woman’s eyes once more. “These savage, unwashed warriors carried harmonies no Chantry choir has mastered. Though their cause was all but hopeless, they sang songs that made the spirits weep.”

“‘Made the spirits weep,’” Lavellan whispered. “I can scarcely imagine something so lovely. It must have been…” But words failed her. Solas watched the flickers of tightly controlled emotion that played across her features as she stared absently at the stone between them. “I know you’re not fond of the Dalish. Nor are you overly attached of those who dwell in cities. I don’t blame you. You have lived a life so different from them… from me. But… sometimes I pray the spirits will take interest in their lives. The quiet beauties that linger there. That someday someone like you might seek them out and marvel at those moments. Cherish them for the treasures they are and speak of them the way you do of your wanderings.” Solas smiled, if a bit sadly. “Thank you, Lethallin,” she said looking up, features warm. “I must admit that I envy your ability at times.” The words seemed to cost her in some way. “To see the histories you’ve seen. The places. The memories. The spirits… It sounds… wonderful. Heart breaking, to be sure. But the tragic beauty of the ages… the stories, the empires are so often diminished and corrupted by the written histories. History _is_ written by the victor, I suppose.”

“And the elves have not often been the victors.” Fenria snorted, her features grim as she nodded.

“The elves. The dwarves. And may others besides, I am sure. I wonder what other great secrets lay hidden where few can or care to look. Elven or otherwise. Cultures lost. People forgotten…. In that, you have a great gift.” The Inquisitor smiled at him then looked out over the overgrown brush, sighing deeply. Her eyes narrowed in calculation as she glanced between the rising sun and a specific portion of unruly earth. “Irises,” she said finally. Perhaps it was an attempt to shift topics or perhaps it was simply a thought had taken their moment’s pause to insert itself. Solas couldn’t be sure. “I think I’ll plant irises there. Maybe a flowering tree of some sort. And a bench. Definitely a bench.” Nodding in satisfaction with this decision, she looked back to find Solas staring at her, blues eyes intense yet gentle. 

“I could teach you, if you would like,” he offered. “To walk the Fade. To search out treasures.” 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Fenria said quickly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she tucked her now empty cloth back into the basket. “You have more important things to see to than dealing with my foolish stumblings.” 

“On the contrary, I would be honored,” Solas said warmly, stowing his own cloth. 

“Truthfully?”

“I would not have offered if I did not think you capable. Nor if I was not willing to dedicate the time.” 

“I… yes,” Fenria said after a small hesitation, wiping dirt from her leggings and boots as she rose. The pendants she worn clinked softly with the movement. Solas rose as well, straightening his tunic. “I _would_ like that. Thank you.” She glanced up at the keep around them and sighed. “But maybe _after_ I get the hang of this whole ‘Inquisitor’ thing.” 

“As you wish,” he said with a slight bow. 

They strolled into the main hall just as Cullen was heading out toward the practice grounds having finished his own morning meal. He waved in greeting and stopped to wait for Fenria.

“Well, Solas,” Lavellan said with a huffed breath. “Thank you. For the lovely breakfast company and even lovelier dreams. I look forward to doing both again. In one fashion or another.” 

“The pleasure was mine, Inquisitor.” He smiled. She returned it, then sighed. 

“Now it seems it is time for me to work off all the food I just ate.” She groaned, the sound touched with a hint of dread. The grumblings under her breath were rather more dramatic than was probably necessary. Solas quirked a bemused eyebrow at her. Fenria winked up at him in response and began making her way toward the Commander, a gentle sway to the steps. 

“Good luck in your training, Inquisitor,” he said as she left. 

“Thanks! I might need it,” she smiled. “Especially is Bull has anything to say about,” she added in a near inaudible mutter as she trudged off. 

Solas smirked at that, then made to return the basket to the kitchen and begin his studies. Studies that would no doubt be a great deal harder to concentrate on with memories of Lavellan clinging to his thoughts as stubbornly as ivy to an old stone wall. The press of gentle lips against his. Soft bronze hair brushing against his fingers. The feel of her in his arms as she leaned into his touch. The smell of her, like spring flowers and damp moss. Solas shook his head as if to shoo a fly, but still he smiled and mused over what new things they might discover together… In the Fade or out of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lethallin= kin/cousin/familiar title (Lethallan is general considered for women. Lethallin for men. Though Bioware hasn't been hugely consistent about this.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is going to be an incredibly long story. I began writing it as a way to deal with my Solas feels and life in general. Originally intend just for me as a way to remind myself of this play through when DA4 eventually comes out it has turned into something more. I have big plans for this tale and I hope you stick with me through the slow bits. I promise lots of feels, laughs, and interesting takes on the events of the game(s) and books.
> 
> *Characters and event heavily inspired by DA:I. All DA characters are the property of Bioware and EA. Dialogue from game and game events heavily used and also belong to Bioware.


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